The Things We've Handed Down
by cynically optimistic
Summary: When a lawyer disappears from his office, Jack and the team investigate. Jack realises he may have a little more in common with the man than he first thought. JS casefile. Complete.
1. Chapter One

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". No infringement intended.

**A/N:** This is my first attempt at any fan fic, so please review. All opinions welcome. Cheers. C.O. ;)

**Chapter One**

**Wednesday 26th January. 8.45am. **

**37 hours missing**

"So, what do we know?"

Jack Malone turned questioningly to Danny Taylor as the two men strode into the foyer of the downtown offices of Redding, Phillips and Hurst. Jack took a moment to take in the plush, marble covered, surroundings that welcomed the wealthy employees and clients to the prestigious Manhattan law firm that made its name, and its money, dealing with criminals of only the highest integrity.

On noticing his bosses' demeanor, Danny offered a smile that was somewhere between a smirk and an expression of condolence. There was no question that Jack would carry out his duties with anything less that consummate professionalism, but when you'd spent the last months locked in a bitter divorce and custody dispute with your attorney ex-wife, even an FBI agent was allowed to hate a bunch of rich lawyers he had yet to meet.

"Well", Danny replied. "We'll know more when we meet up with Sam, but here are the basics."

He looked up from his notes, ensuring he had Jack's attention before continuing.

"Forty year old, white male, Adam Walker, Junior Partner. According to the security guard, he thinks Mr Walker left the offices Monday evening around a quarter to seven, but apparently he never made it home. His wife…." Danny looked back down at his pad, "….. Laura, apparently called the locals when he wasn't home by ten that evening and she couldn't get him on his cell. Seeing as there was no evidence of foul play, and he's old enough and big enough to take care of himself, we're just getting the call now."

Jack was about to intercede when his train of thought was interrupted by the blonde female agent sweeping toward them. Danny broke out into a grin as he noticed the layers of outer clothing and the grim expression on her face.

"Well, good morning, Miss Spade. And how are we on this beautiful morning?"

Samantha Spade refused to dignify the greeting with words and decided to merely scowl her discomfort at her co-worker before getting on with business.

"Adam Walker, Junior Partner. Joined the firm a little over ten years ago. No-one I've spoken to seems to know a great deal about him personally, except that he's married and has a young son. From the pictures in his office, I'd say the kid's about eight or nine. Other than that, nothing. It seems the crime here is strictly white collar, businesses screwing… other businesses, and no-one could think of anything or anyone unusual. Kind of makes me grateful for our line of work."

With that comment she raised her eyebrows and tilted her head toward Jack.

"Hey," she said softly. "You still with us?"

Jack looked flustered for a minute before looking up and meeting her eyes. She smiled. Conscious of the exchange between the two, Danny nodded his head toward security station next to the revolving doors.

"I'm going to go have another chat the guard, see if I can't jog his memory a little more. Or at least find out if there's any gossip we should be hearing. I'll see if we can pull the security footage from Monday night." He eyed the hand carved stone pillars that stood intermittently throughout the lobby. "Not that anyone could really steal this stuff, but I figure a place like this must have a fairly pricy system in place."

Jack nodded. "Great. And check see if they have any exterior cameras on the premises. Although, I'd bet that the good people at Redding, Phillips and Hurst would rather not know what their clients get up to once they're out in the real world."

Danny stifled a grin. "Will do, boss," as he disappeared around the corner.

Once their colleague was out of sight, Sam turned back to Jack. A mildly uncomfortable pause hung in the air-conditioned space between them.

Jack let out a brief sigh. "Well, I suppose we should get up there and start talking to some people in suits."

Sam was hesitant. She opened her mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it, but when Jack still didn't move toward the elevator, opted to go with her first instinct. "Jack…" He turned to look at her. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Caught a little off guard by her question, Jack's mind scanned through several possible answers.

_Sure, I love being in a room full of lawyers, I mean, we know how well that worked out last time. Yeah, I'm fine, and I really feel good about myself talking, about this, to the woman who I can tell feels guilt, however unjust, for the fact that my marriage broke up. The same woman who I pretty much deserted the first time she actually might have needed something from me, to go back and play happy families. And now, when I've given her no real reason over the past year, to show genuine concern over my well-being, here she is, still trying to be my friend._

"Jack?"

Realising that he'd been silent for longer than was socially acceptable, he fumbled for a placating lie. Then appreciating that this was neither what she would accept, nor believe, he searched for the reply he somehow felt she still deserved – the most honest one. His response came out softer and a little more stilted than he intended, and Sam had to strain to hear him. "I'm not really sure yet."

If Samantha was surprised by his candidness, she hid it well. Lifting her head slightly, to again meet his eyes, she offered a supportive smile that Jack could not help but get caught up in. Stepping in front to lead the way, she lightly brushed his upper arm with her hand. Jack felt himself inadvertently relax at the gesture as his left hand automatically reached for the small of her back as he guided her past him. Together they exited the lobby, walking a little closer than was strictly necessary.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter Two

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". I make no profit from this!

**A/N:** Many many thanks to my first reviewers – is it pathetic that you really made my night! Mariel3, I really love your WAT stories. I hope I can live up to all your high standards…! Apologies, in advance, for any glaring errors, I have no beta, so as many times as I check this myself, they'll probably be there!

**Chapter Two**

As they rode the elevator up the twenty-six floors, Sam took the opportunity to surreptitiously study her employer. He looked tired, as always, and his white shirt was slightly crumpled under his black suit. She knew he hadn't been sleeping at the office too often since Marie had left for Chicago, but there was something about him that just seemed worn. She couldn't say for certain if it was merely a 'one-day deal', or whether Jack had maybe looked this way for quite some time. This, in itself, bothered her more than she cared to admit. It wasn't so long ago that she could have sensed even the slightest shift in his mood, reflexively. And now, they were standing two feet apart and she really had no idea what to say. Although she was somewhat relieved she could still elicit a smile from him, she couldn't help but feel that a part of him just seemed to be… missing.

_Well, you know, he did just sign the divorce papers on his marriage. Oh, and his daughters now live in Chicago and he'll get to see them every other holiday… if he's lucky. And yeah, he doesn't really have anything outside of work apart from taking care of his semi-estranged sick father. That's great Sam. Maybe you should just go ahead and tell him he looks old, too._

Before she could berate herself further, her thoughts were cut short by the sharp bell of the elevator announcing their arrival. Once again, Jack guided her in front as they stepped out into a deceptively calm flurry of activity.

The area the doors had opened onto was a large, almost square, open plan showcase. Symmetrical clusters of identical desks and cubicles littered the plain tiled floor. The furnishing was of light wood, with grey partitions separating the endless stretch of impersonalised work spaces. Either the more lowly employees of Redding, Phillips and Hurst had to adhere to a strictly minimalist policy when it came to work place design, or they really didn't have time to care. All across the room, people in dark suits, carrying large mounds of loose leaf files and heavy bound volumes, scurried urgently between desks, like dedicated, overly-sized ants. As the two agents took a closer look, they could see that most of these ants were in fact young men and women in their mid twenties. Probably fresh out of the more exclusive law schools, it seemed that if you were going to push paper, you may as well do it for the richest, if not the best.

Samantha caught Jack's eye and signalled to a large, marble and stone, arched doorway on the far side of the room. On the other side of the arch, a deep-maroon shag-pile carpeted corridor stretched around the corner and out of sight. The opulence of the structure stood in sharp contrast to the clinical quarters in which the elevator had deposited them.

"The Partners and Associates are through there." She pointed, discretely lowering her voice. "Why work in a chain-gang when you can pretend you're in a palace?"

Jack scoffed. "I'm just amazed they haven't put up some sort of gate, you know, to keep the peasants from storming the Bastille."

"Yeah," Sam considered. "It's not hard to see where their clients' fees go. And I'm guessing they probably wouldn't care too much if some of their minions got crushed in the stampede." She took a long breathe, before exhaling. "Ah, you can practically smell the money."

Jack regarded his partner with amusement. "And here I thought it was me who had the repressed anger issues with the esteemed legal community."

This time it was Sam's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Repressed? I think I could find a janitor and a rather large window who would refute that statement. And anyway, I'm simply being empathetic."

Already heading across the floor, Samantha missed the appreciative smile he threw in her direction at that last comment. As he watched her walk away, he realised that his feelings ran much deeper than the involuntary smile she had a habit of bringing to his lips. Without even attempting to dig too deeply into the myriad of memories and emotions that he would forever associate with his blonde co-worker, the realization hit him that, sometimes, it was enough just to know that someone did understand; that, without having to ask, someone was on _your_ side. A lot of things have changed in recent months, thought Jack, but despite everything that had happened, he at that moment, couldn't imagine how he'd feel about his chosen profession if Sam Spade hadn't come along when she did.

Smiling to herself, Samantha could sense Jack in step behind her, as she subconsciously enjoyed the feel of his eyes intently on her back. "Well, let them eat cake," she thought she heard him mutter before their voices were drowned out by the wave of bureaucratic activity.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

As their feet sank into the inch deep carpet of the deserted Partner's corridor, Sam began a running commentary of the information she'd gleaned from her visit earlier that morning.

"Adam Walker arrived in his department, which deals with the firm's own…", she paused searching for a suitably diplomatic term… "um, legal issues, just after nine am on Monday." She looked up at Jack for confirmation and he nodded as she continued. "Adam's a Junior Partner, which seems to mean that while he's not exactly a big shot with five secretaries and a corner office, he's also not a bottom-feeder. His fellow Juniors were already in morning meetings when I got here, but should be free to talk now."

Jack made a face to indicate that talking with them would not be optional, as Samantha pressed on with her diatribe. "According to the secretarial pool by his office… who, by the way, I'll take a wild guess and suggest might be our best bet if we're looking for any office scandal behind our guy's disappearance… Adam normally gets in around eight am. But no-one thought it was too unusual that he was in a bit later after the weekend. The secretary, Melissa… someone, Thompson, maybe… who he tends to deal with was off sick yesterday, but 'the girls' are expecting her in anytime…" she glanced down at her watch, "now."

At this last snippet of information, Jack looked up, a sceptical smile gracing his lips. Samantha caught it and smiled back, her expression mirroring his own.

"Yeah, that's what I thought too. I was about to call you and Danny to tell you not to even bother coming over, but her co-workers are adamant that it's legit. Apparently Melissa's been suffering on and off with the flu for the last three weeks… must be the damn weather." She glanced at Jack and was again rewarded by the amused glint in his eye. "Anyway, she's got quite a reputation as the serious, hardworking type, not the kind who thinks that promotion means skipping town with her married boss, even if _he_ were that much of a creep…"

As the words flew out of her mouth, hanging precariously in the air between them, Samantha visibly cringed. _Shit._

With some trepidation, she looked across at her partner. _Oh God, did I really just say that? Please say something… Anything?_

She watched as Jack's face registered some sort of shock as he realised what she'd just said. He seemed to be scrutinising her expression, but just as she was about to blurt out either a lame joke or guilty apology, to her complete amazement, Jack began to laugh, deep guffaws that resonated from his stomach. As he in turn took in her look of bemusement, it only made him laugh harder.

Sam watched him closely as he desperately attempted to regain control. When he finally did so, she smiled guiltily and shrugged her shoulders. "Well, I'm glad to see we're finally passed _that_ awkward stage," she offered.

"I'm sorry," Jack managed, "I think today's just bringing something out of me."

A fleeting expression passed over Samantha's face, which failed to go unnoticed by her colleague. As she regarded him once again, there was a subtle change also in her tone, as it took on a more solemn quality than she had initially intended.

"I've missed that sound."

Jack appraised her, taking in the look in her eyes, which for a minute he could have sworn was almost… sorrow?

"Yeah," he said softly. "Me too."

For a couple of seconds they continued to watch each other, until they heard footsteps approaching from ahead. The spell was immediately broken as they remembered where they were and snapped effortlessly back into their professional personas.

"Excuse me?"

The agents turned as a young, attractive, snub-nosed red-head appeared in front of them. She turned toward Samantha.

"Excuse me. Are you Agent Spade?"

Samantha paused, as if performing a visual appraisal of the woman before responding, taking in the slightly out-dated attire, and the severe manner in which her hair was secured from her face. Despite the youthful energy that radiated from her in waves, all she needed was a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles and she'd be the model of secretarial excellence. However, when Sam met her eyes, she could see a concern that cut through any stereotype she found herself building. Silently reprimanding herself, she flashed the woman a confident, yet sympathetic smile.

"Yes, I'm Agent Spade. And you are…?"

The woman smiled apprehensively, as if unsure whether she wanted her name known to the FBI. She appeared to be studying Samantha in much the same way that the blonde agent had regarded her. Eventually she spoke up.

"I'm sorry. I mean, I only just got here… and they were all talking about Adam, and… sorry." She extended her hand and Sam took it. "I'm Melissa Thomas."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

As Melissa escorted the two agents down the corridor towards Adam's office and the inner sanctum of Redding, Phillips and Hurst, Jack took a moment to observe his surroundings and make a mental note of any queries he may have. The walls were lined with what he could only assume were portraits of the founding partners. The firm had been established in the early eighteen hundreds and despite their current role as advocates for poor, misunderstood big-business, they appeared to be clinging tightly to any last vestige of 'old money' status. The portraits were housed in gilded frames and were as much a homage to white male authority as he had ever seen. While the pictures continued ahead of him, he followed the two women into a sub-corridor on the right where they came to a stop outside the office of Adam Walker. Samantha pushed open the door and Melissa cautiously followed her.

Once all three were inside, Jack pushed the door closed. Whilst Samantha took a seat and encouraged Melissa to do the same, Jack wandered around the tiny room, trying to get a feel for who exactly Adam Walker was. Ignoring the small talk he sensed Sam was making purely to set the nervous secretary at ease, he let his gaze wander to a small shelving unit behind the desk. Unlike the rest of the area which was fastidiously neat, with mounds of paper and books set out in clearly demarcated piles, the three shelves looked conspicuously 'homely'. On the bottom two were a mixture of CDs and various knick-knacks obviously meant to distract from the hours spent at the workplace. But on the top-shelf, pride of place was a large, framed family photograph. The snapshot was obviously taken on some sort of holiday, as all three figures were wearing regulation shorts and sunglasses. On one side was a tanned, dark-haired, attractive, in a reassuringly average way, early middle aged man. On the other side was a naturally blonde, bubbly looking woman of about the same age. In between them was a young boy, as Sam had suggested, probably around eight or nine years old, almost as blonde as his mother. The two adults were swinging the child enthusiastically toward the camera and all three were grinning wildly. Jack couldn't help but contrast it with the portraits he'd been accosted with just outside the door.

Melissa caught Jack staring at the picture and sighed. "That's Adam with his family. That's Laura, his wife, and their son David. That must have been taken when they were on vacation in Florida last year. They all look so happy…." She trailed off, sadly before looking at Samantha. "Do you think something could have happened to him?"

Sensing that Melissa's apprehension had more to do with the unexpectedness of the situation, and not a sign of guilt, Samantha guessed that her best approach would be one of reassurance. Putting on her best, comforting expression, she addressed Melissa honestly.

"We were hoping that you may be able to shed some light on that for us. Out of everyone I've spoken to this morning, you're the first one who's been able to tell me his wife's name." She paused, gauging the younger woman's reaction, before pursuing this. "Were you and Adam close?"

Melissa looked like she were about to freeze up again but her posture suddenly relaxed and she cracked her first genuine smile. "You've been talking to the other secretaries, haven't you?"

The comment took Samantha by surprise, as did the genuine compassion she felt for the young woman in front of her. Her forehead creased in consternation. "What makes you say that?"

The secretary eyed her with mock scepticism and this time Sam was forced to laugh. Making the most of the current rapport, she held her hands up in defeat before conspiratorially leaning forward.

"Yeah, okay. You got me. I guess I should know better than to listen to office gossip."

Melissa's demeanour shifted again as her tone became flat. "Yeah."

More earnestly this time, Samantha tried again. "Okay. So what can you tell me about Adam?"

At first it seemed that the young woman was being evasive, but as her brow furrowed, it became clear to Sam that she was honestly thinking about the question. When her response came it was composed and sincere.

"Well, for one thing, he really loves his wife and son." Sam silently nodded her encouragement. "He talks about them all the time. To anyone who'll listen, that is." She quickly added. "Which, of course, discounts around ninety-nine percent of the people here." Her expression hardened. "In case you hadn't noticed, this isn't exactly the kind of place which excels in the family-picnic department. For most of them, their wives are like their income, you know? Disposable."

Samantha nodded again, as Melissa pressed on, now seemingly intent on saying her piece.

"I've been working in this department, with Adam, for two years, and before that I worked on the floor," she pointed back in the direction of the elevator, "for almost three years before that." She sighed quietly. "This was my first job, right out of secretarial school, and it wasn't exactly what I dreamed of doing with my life." Sam smiled understandingly. "But the pay was pretty good, and everyone said it'd look good on my resume if I stuck it out." She lifted her eyes to meet Samantha's. "Some of the guys down there were real jerks, you know? Straight out of law school, thought they had a license to do whatever the hell they wanted." Her thoughts seemed to drift off for a second. "I was so relieved when I got moved up here. There was some other stuff in my life that wasn't going so great. So, I figured at least up here when the guys were jerks, at least I had a better office, right?" She paused again. "Then I met Adam."

Samantha's voice was soft. "How's Adam different?"

Melissa smiled shyly, and for a moment Sam was sure that if Adam wasn't so happily married, at least in the eyes of this young woman, she may have been hearing an entirely different story.

"He just is." She stated quietly. "For one thing, he didn't always work in a place like this." She elaborated. "Most of the people here, they're here because they think that if they pay their dues, they can retire at thirty-five, or die happy, or something." The undercurrent of scorn in her voice was hard to miss, but Samantha didn't get the impression that there was any jealousy behind it. "Adam came here for the money, I mean, he's not a saint or anything. I think he just wanted to know his family would be taken care of. But before he came here, he used to work for some kind of charity. I think it had something to do with the environment. Whatever, it was, I think he really cared about it." Her tone became wistful. "That must be nice," she pondered. "To do something that actually matters."

Sam left her to her melancholy for a moment, before gently broaching her next subject. "Did Adam have any problems with anyone in the firm that you know of?"

Again, Melissa considered her response carefully. "Well, I think a lot of the people around here think he's a bit weird. But that's only because he cares about different stuff from them," she hastily added. "If he wanted to, I bet he could make partner, he's just not so good with office politics, you know?"

At that comment Sam glanced up at Jack and their eyes met briefly, causing the corners of Sam's mouth to turn up on their own accord.

Melissa continued. "Most people seem to respect him. I mean, how couldn't they? He's really good at his job, and if it wasn't for him, this whole lawsuit thing would be an even bigger mess than it already is."

With that comment, Sam's eyes jumped up from the notepad on her lap. "Lawsuit?"

The secretary drew breathe as she realized what she'd just said. She tried to backtrack but sensing it was too late, smiled apologetically.

"Sorry, we're… um… they just don't really like us talking about it, I guess. It's not a big deal really. To tell you the truth, I don't really understand what it's all about. Adam was pretty involved in it though, I think. I mean I was always copying documents and stuff for him." She indicated the piles of paper that Jack had taken note of earlier.

Samantha watched her, noting her reactions. "Well, is there _anything_ you can tell us?"

Knowing that there was no way around the subject, Melissa sighed again and shrugged. "I'm only telling you this because I really want you to find Adam, okay? You didn't find out about this from me." Sam nodded her acquiescence. "You know Adam works in the firm's own legal section, right? It's his job to check that what the firm does is acceptable under state and federal law."

Sam couldn't help but interrupt. "That must make him a pretty busy guy around here then."

Melissa smiled appreciatively. "Yes it does. Anyway, I really don't know any details, but I think two of the departments are representing major clients who had some sort of dispute and now they're both suing _us_ for conflict of interest, or something. I'm not positive, but I think Adam might have known about this for a while, but nobody wanted to listen to him. Maybe they were just hoping it'd go away? The Partners were in and out of here all day Monday, and some of them sounded pretty pissed…" She stopped herself, obviously nervous. "That's all I know, honestly."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**09.30 am. Adam Walker's Office, Redding, Phillips and Hurst.**

As Melissa retreated hastily back to her work station, Samantha mulled over the new information they had gotten. If the secretary's, somewhat polemical, opinion was to be taken literally, Adam may not be a saint but he was probably the closest thing they'd get to one in this crowd. They'd know more about his home life when they'd spoken to Vivian and Martin, but until then the possibility of Adam as a corporate whistle-blower gave them their strongest lead, their only lead…

Having been silent for so long, Sam was snapped out of her reverie by the sound of Jack's voice.

"So, what do we think of the wholesome secretary?"

"You mean apart from the fact she's in love Adam Walker?" Sam smirked as Jack gave her a questioning look. "Oh come on," she smiled knowingly. "How could you not see it!"

Jack shrugged dismissively, but Sam could tell he'd drawn the same conclusion. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets as he turned and steeled himself. "Alright, let's go find us some Patriarchs, and see why no-one saw fit to mention this little lawsuit right away."

Before he made it to the door, his forward momentum was interrupted by the sharp trilling of his cell phone.

"Malone." He answered gruffly.

When he heard the voice on the other end, his tone relaxed.

"Danny. Got anything good for us down there?"

There was a pause, and the rustle of static, as he waited for his reply. When it came, Samantha could just about make out the tinny words as they echoed around Adam Walker's empty office.

"Well, I'm not sure it's good," Agent Taylor muttered. "But there's definitely something funky going on around here…"

**TBC**

**_A/N_** Okay, that second chapter was a lot tougher to get on paper than the first! Not having done this before I'm struggling a little bit with balancing the character stuff, and scene-setting with the dialogue and progression of the plot. So, if anyone has any comments on the pace I'm setting – too slow? too much character time/not enough character time! – please please feel free to tell me what you think! Hope you're still sticking with this, and appreciate the feedback. C.O. :)


	3. Chapter Three

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". I make no profit from this.

**A/N:** Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed and given their support and advice, particularly those of you who've now done it twice – Mariel, Malinche, Semele, makemyday – it's becoming a real pleasure to hear from you. And to answer your question Tiantian, judging by the way the second chapter went, and where I know this story is headed, it is going to be fairly long. I am planning on picking up the pace as I get going - so, please, just bear with me!

**Chapter Three**

**Wednesday 26th January. 9am**

**Security Station, Redding, Phillips and Hurst**

Danny Taylor looked around impatiently, searching for the aging security guard he'd spoken with on the telephone earlier that morning. He finally attracted the attention of a much burlier, and decidedly younger, employee, who rubbed a hand over his bald head before donning his maroon cap and stepping out of the booth.

"Hi." Danny flashed a comradely grin as he flicked open his ID. "I'm Agent Taylor, with the FBI. I'm gonna need to ask you a few questions."

The young guard looked slightly ill at ease. But Danny wasn't certain that his discomfort around law enforcement had anything to do with the reason, on this occasion, why law enforcement was actually present. Assuming that this was more than likely the case, the agent cut to the chase.

"Look, it's cool man." He glanced at the name tag on the guard's jacket. "Sean. You're not in any kind of trouble, as far as I'm concerned. It's just that there's a lawyer from upstairs missing, and I need to take a look around. I spoke to your boss earlier."

At this revelation, the kid's relief was palpable. "Oh, right. You're the guy that called Bill."

Bill, that was his name. Danny smiled congenially. "That's right. Do you think you could get him down here?"

Glad to be temporarily off the hook, Sean grabbed the telephone off the wall next to him. Danny listened discreetly to the one-sided conversation.

"Yo, Bill…. Yeah, the FBI dude's down here… Yeah…. No…. No…. Fine." With that he hung up the phone and grimaced apologetically at Danny.

"Sorry. He's just… um… taking care of something. He'll be through in a minute, okay?"

Noticing the young man edging away from him back to the safety of the booth, Danny kept his tone casual.

"So, Sean, do you know Adam Walker?"

The guard stopped, a look of confusion temporarily crossing his face. "Huh?"

Danny sensed he wasn't going make much progress here, but there was nothing else he could do until the kid's boss arrived. He may just stumble across _something_ of use. "Adam Walker… lawyer… Monday… missing?"

"Oh," Sean mused. "Sorry, no-one told me his name."

"So, you don't have much to do with the people upstairs, then?"

Sean's expression became unreadable, but his tone was resigned. "Hundreds of them, four of us. They're never gonna remember our names, why the hell should I remember theirs?"

If those words had been spoken with anything other than total apathy, Danny might have been tempted to read more into his statement. However, it seemed fairly certain that Sean's languid bark was infinitely worse than his bite. The likelihood that he would have expended energy causing a nameless lawyer to disappear was negligible at best.

"Besides, I wasn't even here on Monday. Day off." He clarified. "You can check it on the board." He pointed to a pin-board hanging precariously in front of an over-stuffed bookcase in their makeshift office.

It's a good job they hide the guards out of sight, thought Danny idly, as he surveyed Sean. For all the money that seems to be floating around this place, you'd expect bellhops, not bouncers.

Still hoping he might pick up anything that would help their case, he tried another tack.

"This must be a pretty dull place to work, hey? Watching over a bunch of rich lawyers."

Sean regarded him warily, considering whether acting pally with a Fed was in his best interest or not. After a moment, he sighed, his tone flat. "I've had worse jobs. Though it's pretty dead round here most of the time, and when something does happen it's not like…"

Just as Danny's curiosity was finally piqued, they were sharply interrupted by the cracking of the booth door against the marble column concealing it. The young guard used this momentary distraction to slip back to safety, and the agent was greeted by a flustered looking older man, sporting an unkempt moustache and a questionable comb-over. Inwardly cursing the break, Danny smiled and extended his hand. "Bill, I assume?"

When Danny felt the man's hand grasp his, it was clammy and rather shaky. He found himself looking past the guard in the direction from which he'd appeared. At the back of the booth was another door that the agent had failed to notice, most probably as it had been obscured by the reticent, but bulky form of Sean. Beyond this door he could just about make out a metal gate which he assumed was the access to a service elevator. Bill caught the direction of his gaze and indicated toward the office, his left hand absently pulling his shirt collar away from his skin. Danny noted that a thin glaze of perspiration lined his forehead.

Whilst attempting to discern the reason for the guard's obvious discomfort, Danny adopted his most innocent manner. "So, you said on the phone that you know Adam Walker?"

As the two men entered the booth, Sean looked up. With a wave of his hand, Bill signalled to his young employee. Sensing that his boss was waiting for him to make himself scarce, the kid happily complied and scurried to safety through the gate behind him. Again Danny took note.

Now they were alone, Bill turned to face the agent.

"Yeah, sure I know Adam. He must've worked upstairs for ten years now. Even brought his wife and kid around a few times. That kind of thing stands out in this place. Always had a cheerful word when he saw me. Nice guy," he mused. "Not many of 'em stay here that long. They must like him."

Still unsure exactly what it was this guy seemed to be hiding, Danny sensed that it might be best to just keep him talking. "Take it you're quite the old-timer around here, then?" He grinned.

With that comment, Bill smiled almost proudly. "Twenty-five years next month."

"So, you know this place pretty well?"

"I'm head of security. You can't get much past me."

Danny groaned, inwardly. This wasn't going anywhere. "You saw Adam on Monday evening?"

"Yeah, like I told you when you called. Around six forty-five."

"And you didn't notice anything unusual? He didn't seem anxious, or upset about anything?"

"Not that I can recall. Same as always, you know. Are we finished? I really need to get back to work."

_Wow, this guy's a bad liar_. "Sure." Danny smiled a little too sincerely. "Oh, just one more thing. I'm gonna need to take a look at your security footage from Monday night."

The guard flinched visibly, as, for a split second, his expression froze.

Danny watched him closely. "Look, you can help me out and make this easy. But, if you don't wanna do that, I can be back here in thirty minutes with a nice shiny warrant and an unpleasant attitude."

The forced smile became more of a grimace as Bill exhaled his response. "Of course."

With what seemed like an inordinate amount of effort for such a small task, the guard turned and headed toward the door through which Sean had exited earlier. Without waiting for an invitation, Danny followed.

The metal gate, as he had correctly assumed, was indeed an old freight elevator. But instead, Bill led the agent up a narrow flight of stairs. By the time they reached the first floor landing, the guard was wheezing slightly. Danny watched as he took a moment to compose himself before pushing open the door on his left, marked Authorized Personnel Only.

The room Danny found himself in was dimly lit and slightly musty – a world away from the grandeur of the floor below. Barely larger than a prison cell, on the back wall, suspended perilously from the ceiling, hung two television monitors, which had clearly seen better days. The two side walls were taken up by narrow shelves accommodating hundreds of analogue videotapes.

Despite being amused that a money making machine such as Redding, Phillips and Hurst still used such an antiquated security system, Agent Taylor had the sinking feeling that this wasn't going to be quite the straight-forward task he had assumed.

Observing his expression, Bill gruffly explained. "Never really had much trouble 'round here. There's a guard on duty all night, and an alarm system. No point wasting money on fancy cameras when we don't need 'em."

Danny smiled to himself. Jack's theory was close to the mark, except it would appear that the good folks at the top, didn't much care what their clients did inside the building either. "Do you at least have footage of the foyer? I know I saw a camera on the door when I came in."

Bill waved abstractedly in the direction of the shelves containing the tapes. "Knock yourself out." His voice sounded hoarse. "It's there… somewhere."

With that comment he turned abruptly and was out the door before his interrogator had time to object.

This time omitting an audible sigh, Danny turned his attention to the first shelf, silently cursing himself for the act of consideration toward Jack and Samantha that had led him here.

When he looked more closely, a slight sense of relief washed over him. The system may be old, but there was some semblance of order. Each tape was marked with a ninety-minute time slot, and wooden dividers separated individual dates. Realising that he was seeing the oldest tapes, he crossed the room to check out the last shelf. Letting his finger trace the sides of the cassette jackets he muttered to himself.

"Monday three thirty 'til five, Monday five 'til six-thirty, Monday…" He quickly scanned the rest of the shelf before pulling out his cell phone.

"Jack, it's Danny."

**9.30am**

Danny smiled grimly as he responded to Jack's question.

"… It seems that a lawyer is not the only thing they're missing around here."

Jack's voice came back as a low rumble. "Yeah, it seems like there's a couple of things in this place that they'd rather we didn't know about. What've you got?"

Danny sighed. "It's more what I _haven't_ got. Our security guard couldn't have looked more uncomfortable if he'd tried. For a minute I actually thought he was gonna have a heart attack right in front of me. And I'm beginning to understand why. It would appear that the security tape for the time Adam allegedly disappeared has also mysteriously vanished."

Although he couldn't see it, Danny swore he could actually hear Jack running his hand through his hair. There was a pause.

"Have you asked the guard about it yet?"

"Not yet. For a guy who looked like he was gonna drop at any moment, man, was he out of that door quick."

This time he heard Jack scoff. "Okay. Well, go find him and see what his story is. And while you're at it, ask him what he knows about the lawsuit that's going on 'round here." There was a quick beat. "You know CPR, right?"

Danny laughed. "I'm hoping I'll break him before it comes to that."

With that comment he snapped his phone shut and grabbed the remaining tapes from Monday's recording. Shrugging his shoulders, he headed back down the stairs.

When he reached the door back into the office, he stopped and quietly watched for a moment. Bill was on the telephone, twirling the cord nervously between his fingers as he nodded incessantly. Unaware that he was being observed, the guard pulled something out of his pocket and quickly shoved it into a box file lying open on the desk. Danny raised his eyebrows and smiled in disbelief before pushing open the door.

The sound of the agent's entrance startled Bill as he spun guiltily around in his chair. Danny again plastered a grin on his face and reached over, grabbing the file. The guard weakly attempted to stop him but was a fraction too late. His expression filled with dread, he watched as Danny slowly opened the box, purposefully extending the moment for all it was worth. Reaching inside, the agent gasped in mock surprise as he pulled out its content. Holding it up to examine the spoils, his smile spread as he confirmed the object in his hand – a neatly labelled videotape. He looked back at Bill, his expression now one of exasperation.

"Look man, let me give you some advice. The next time you try to hide something from a Federal Agent – which, by the way, is not a very smart thing to do – you may wanna check that they're not standing behind you whilst you do it!"

Bill stuttered, but chose to remain silent as Danny continued, his tone even.

"Okay, this is gonna play like this… I don't believe that you personally had anything to do with the disappearance of Adam Walker. But, I do know that you're holding out on me. Now, I'm guessing that whatever it is you're hiding, I'm gonna find out, the minute I watch this tape. The question is, do you wanna do yourself a favour, and just tell me what you know. Or, are you gonna keep protecting who ever it is that you think you're helping? 'Cause I'm guessing, that whoever it is, they're not gonna be quite so protective when it comes to you."

Bill pressed his lips together tightly, put his face was ashen. Danny went for the jugular. Lightening his tone, he made sure that he was staring right at the guard.

"Oh, and while you're at it, you may as well just go ahead and tell me everything you know about this lawsuit."

The guard blanched, as his resistance visibly caved. He forced himself to raise his eyes.

"No-one was supposed to find out…"

**TBC**

**A/N:** Sorry for the exposition heavy chapter, but it was a necessary evil, I'm afraid. There is more character stuff on the way shortly, promise. It also didn't help that my temperamental laptop just had another meltdown on me and I've had to re-write half of this! So, there may be a few more grammatical issues than normal. Will try and get the next chapter written and posted in a couple of days, time permitting. ;)


	4. Chapter Four

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". I make no profit from this!

**A/N:** Another exposition chapter, I'm afraid – and a little later than intended as life just kept getting in the way! Don't know about you, but just had to get out of that law firm for a little while. And anyway, there's nothing wrong with stretching out a little intrigue before I pick up the pace… So, read, enjoy and, as always, let me know what you think;)

**Chapter Four**

**Wednesday 26th January. 9.30am**

**Home of Adam and Laura Walker, Hempstead, NY.**

As they pulled their car up in front of the Walker residence, Vivian Johnson and Martin Fitzgerald both paused to take in their surroundings. The neighbourhood which played host to the home of Adam and Laura Walker was a model of suburban utopia. In place of a white picket fence, a row of neatly trimmed shrubbery, still green even on such a grey morning, marked the front of the property. Beyond this, extended an immaculate stretch of lawn, identical in size, shape and cultivated appearance, to its neighbours'. The garden led the way to an equally well maintained two-storey, family abode. The only feature that differentiated this house from any of the others within immediate view was the scattering of sports equipment and remnants of other outdoor activities approaching the entrance. Vivian got the distinct impression that the child who lived here would, at least materially, be in want of very little.

Gathering her coat firmly around her, she stepped out of the vehicle to join Martin who was now standing on the side-walk. "Nice neighbourhood," she observed. "Very middle-class. Wealthy, but not too wealthy. Neat, but not too grand."

Martin nodded. "We're definitely in 'American Dream' territory here. If it weren't for the lawn decorations, I'd say maybe, Stepford?"

Viv gave him a sly look. "Nostalgic?" She smiled as she headed up the driveway ahead of him.

­­­­­­­­­­­

Just as Vivian reached her hand to push the questionably tasteful novelty baseball bell, the door in front of them swung open. Behind it was an exhausted looking, but naturally attractive blonde woman wearing jeans and a thick navy sweater. Her naturally curly hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and a cordless phone was clutched in her free hand. The agents instinctively reached for their IDs, but without waiting to inspect them, their host smiled tiredly and ushered them inside.

With the front door shut firmly behind them, Vivian looked up kindly.

"I'm Agent Johnson and this is Agent Fitzgerald, with the missing person's unit. You must be Mrs Walker?"

"Laura, please." She sighed as her posture relaxed. "Sorry," she paused. "It's just a relief that someone finally seems to be doing something."

The agents followed as she drifted toward a spacious room on the left off the hallway, idly kicking a stray soccer ball out of the way as she passed. The walls were covered by an assortment of family photographs and a pile of kids' books and DVDs lay in the corner. Laura indicated to a large dark leather sofa behind them and they sat attentively.

"I'm sorry. Can I get you anything? Coffee?... Not that I really need anymore of it at the moment…."

Her thoughts drifted into silence until Martin ventured softly. "Um, no thank you. We're fine. So, what can you tell us about the last time you saw your husband?"

Laura looked almost startled at being broken out of her reverie. She shook her head, as if to clear it, before apologising again.

"God, sorry. It's just that… this is all so surreal. We both left for work on Monday morning, same as always. He took the train to the office, and my ride picked me up just after eight am. I ended up pulling a double shift… I'm a doctor over at the University clinic… so a colleague of mine dropped me off here just before ten. I'd asked a neighbour to watch David after school so when I realised I was going to be late home, she said that he could spend the night. When I got back and saw Adam wasn't home and his cell was off, I thought maybe there'd been an accident or something and…"

At this natural break, Vivian interrupted gently. "So the last time you saw Adam was Monday morning?"

"Yeah."

"And, did it seem as if there was anything wrong? Was he upset about anything? Did you two have a…"

This time it was Laura who interrupted. "We didn't fight, if that's what you're thinking. I mean, we do _have_ fights, but… He didn't just leave." Her voice shook slightly. "There has to be a reason…"

"That's why we're here," Martin interceded kindly. "We're not trying to pry into your marriage, Laura. But if something happened that might tell us where your husband is, then it would really help if you could talk to us."

At this comment, Vivian smiled to herself. _He's really starting to sound like Jack._ She noted.

Laura's gestures were becoming decidedly desperate, but this last plea seemed to mollify her slightly.

"I know." She toyed absently with the gold band on her finger. "It's just… I guess I'm used to being the one giving the news, not the one waiting for it." She sighed again. "I just feel so helpless. I mean, I sent David off to school, he thinks his dad is on a business trip. He's only ten years old. He doesn't need to be dealing with this."

At the mention of the son, Vivian looked up from her notes momentarily as Laura continued.

"I already told the police all of this. When he didn't come home, I called his office, but there was no-one there. He doesn't really socialise with his colleagues, but I called a couple of them anyway. It sounded like they were drinking, but they said they had no idea where he was. None of the neighbours had seen him come home and we don't have too many close friends locally, so, I didn't know what else to do…"

This time it was Martin who looked up. "Have you tried his cell again since Monday?"

She eyed him sceptically.

"I know it sounds obvious," he smiled. "But you'd be amazed the things that can be overlooked when people are worried."

Laura nodded. "When he didn't answer, I left, like a dozen, messages. I must've tried all night, but the thing was still switched off."

"Is that unusual?" asked Vivian. "For him to turn his cell phone off?"

"Not really." Laura replied. "Sometimes he just turns it off and forgets to switch it back on. I worry sick for a couple of hours, then he shows up like nothing's happened. I thought this was going to be another…" A lump rose in her throat and she swallowed heavily. "I don't understand how this has happened."

The female agent gave her a moment to compose herself.

"It might help if you could tell us a little bit about you and your husband."

She watched as some of the tension appeared to seep out of the blonde's shoulders. If the look in her eyes were anything to go by, it was hard to imagine any harm would have come to her husband by her hand. Viv had been in this game for a while now, but if this woman was putting on an act, it was a damn convincing one. She watched as a smile passed over the other woman's lips, caught up in her own recollections.

"Adam and I met at Harvard. He was a poverty stricken, scholarship law student, I was an angry med student, intent on not spending anymore of my parents money." She laughed softly. "We were both caught up in the typical campus politics, cause of the day type stuff. Me, because I knew it'd piss my family off, Adam because he actually cared about the issues."

Vivian smiled at her honesty.

"Anyway, we both finished at the same time. I did my residency in Boston and he went to work for this tiny environmental agency that he'd volunteered at during college. We were regular professional bohemians, you know?"

Viv nodded, understandingly.

Laura's expression changed. "I guess everyone has to grow up sometime, right?... We'd been talking about getting married for a couple of years, but more in a theoretical sense than it actually happening anytime soon. But my father had died a couple of years before, and then my mom got sick… Adam was really great and actually suggested we move back to New York… I grew up here, but he's a true Bostonian… to be nearer to my family. We figured that getting married was the one thing we could actually do for _us_, so we did. Three months later, I was pregnant with David and Adam landed the job with the firm. I knew it wasn't really what he wanted to do, and I tried to talk him out of it. But he was so adamant that he was going to give us all this wonderful life… I think it became his mantra. We moved out here right after David was born…" She sighed. "And here we are…"

"You went back to work after your son was born?" Vivian lifted her eyes to connect with the other woman. "That must have been tough… for both of you."

"Sure. We work crazy hours sometimes, who doesn't? But Adam always tries to be home before David goes to bed… that's really important to him. And the hospital's pretty good about my shifts… most of my colleagues are grateful for the extra money. We fight sometimes, if both of us get really stressed, but about normal, insignificant stuff like whose turn it is to pick up the dry-cleaning. And we always try not to argue in front of our son."

Martin leaned forward. "Does your husband have any family in the area?"

"He doesn't have any family, anywhere." Laura responded. "His mom died when we were in school, and he never really mentioned his father. I used to ask about him all the time, but Adam really didn't like me talking about him. I always figured he must've walked out on them when Adam was pretty young. It seemed like a bad memory, so I left it alone."

"And you can't think of anywhere else he might have gone to…"

"Escape?" Laura rubbed her hands over her face, massaging her eyes. "No. We're all the family he really has."

"Laura," Viv began, "I always hate asking this question, but, is there any chance that your husband is involved with… someone else?"

The other woman shook her head in disbelief. "Is my husband having an affair?"

Vivian studied her reaction as Laura's face revealed a succession of emotional reflexes. Eventually she took a deep breathe, her voice controlled.

"If I say that could never happen, just how naïve does that make me?" For a moment, Viv thought that her eyes took on a brief flash of hope. "Oh God, at this point, for David's sake as well as Adam's, I'm beginning to hope that's true."

Martin took the initiative. "We're just trying to keep an open mind, all right? If we're going to work out where Adam is, we need to know as much as we can about his life at home and professionally. Did he happen to mention any problems at work recently?"

Laura paused, thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it, it was last week, I think. I heard him on the phone to someone at the office. It was pretty late, and he sounded… frustrated. I asked him about it, but he just dismissed it, said it was just 'work stuff' and wasn't important. He says if I can manage to leave my work at the hospital, then he has no excuse for bringing corporate manoeuvrings home with him. I didn't want to pry, so I just left it at that. Maybe if I'd…? Do you think…?"

The young agent cut her off before she could complete her doubts. "All right. Look, this may be a long shot, but is there anyone you can think of who may have a grudge against your family? Maybe a patient of yours? A disgruntled former employee?"

She shook her head, tiredly. "No. I've been going through this in my head for that last thirty-six hours." She exhaled. "I work mostly in a clinic. We don't handle emergencies and I can count the number of patients I've lost in my care over the last ten years on one hand. There's no-one." Sinking into her chair, she fell into a quiet desperation.

Deciding there was no point in further upsetting her, Viv steered the conversation to safer waters. Rising from the sofa, she walked over to the mantle, her eyes falling on the prominent photograph of a gap toothed blonde child in a green little league uniform. She smiled. "This must be David?"

Grateful for the momentary reprieve, Laura returned the smile. "Yeah, he loves his sports. Saturday it's softball, Sunday's soccer, and then he takes swimming lessons twice a week after school. Can't get enough."

Vivian's eyes roamed to another picture, this one featuring a younger version of David squaring his shoulders in preparation to launch a filthy soccer ball at his father, laughing in anticipation.

"Your husband's pretty involved with your son's interests then?" she smiled.

"Yeah." Laura's initial energy was waning fast, along with her concentration. A combination, Viv supposed, of the physical and emotional stress of the last day and a half. "He takes him to all his practices on the weekend, and never misses a match. I always suspected it had something to do with his relationship to his own father, but I never…" She tailed off. "He and David are really close. They're so alike…" Laura smiled fondly, absently wiping away a tear before it had time to form. "It's impossible to get between them sometimes. I mean, they get upset with each other about something or other, like on Sunday when… David's always gotten really distressed when he thinks his dad is mad at him… But they always sorted it out, you know?"

Vivian watched her as the room fell silent. For a moment, it seemed that Laura was lost deep within her own thoughts. Wherever in her mind this last image had taken her, she was rudely heaved out by a ringing sound emanating from the kitchen. Barely aware of the presence of the two agents in her sitting room, "my cell", she exhaled, before bolting from her chair.

The two agents listened as they heard Laura's footsteps echoing heavily back toward them. As if suddenly hyper-aware of their presence, she shrugged awkwardly and attempted to smile. Securing the phone between her chin and her shoulder she again wiped at her eyes whilst nodding slowly. "The clinic." She mouthed exaggeratingly to her houseguests as she indicated she would take the call in the other room. Vivian nodded her affirmation and watched as Laura slid the connecting door shut behind her.

Once they were certain she was safely out of ear-shot, Martin and Vivian exchanged glances.

"Do you think she's telling the truth?" Martin pondered to his more experienced colleague.

"About the phone call, or in general?" Viv returned.

The younger agent, once again, looked pensive. "Either… Both."

"As a matter of fact, yes I do." Vivian replied. "I know we've been wrong before, but I really believe this woman has no idea what could have happened to her husband."

"Do you think there could be another woman?" He ventured. "I mean, it wouldn't be the first time – successful career, great home, loving wife and son. Maybe he did just get tired of his life and wanted a clean break. Places like this can get pretty claustrophobic. The perfect life isn't for everyone."

Vivian gave him a questioning look but refrained from comment.

"Could be," she finally agreed . "But, it just doesn't seem to add up. If what the wife's told us _is_ true, responsibility seems to be _this_ guy's favourite word." She paused again. "Just look at all these photographs of him with his kid. Does he seem the type of guy who'd wake up one morning, go to his office, and decide never to see his family again?"

Martin had to reason that he didn't. "I know, I don't really buy it either. Do we know how the others are getting on at his office?"

"I'm sure Jack will call if they find anything useful." The slight stiffening of her posture as she uttered this remark caused Martin to shift uncomfortably. Noting his reaction, Vivian smiled ruefully but apologetically. "Sorry, I guess I'm still working through some issues on that front."

Her fellow agent stayed quiet, but nodded sympathetically.

"I know it's been a few months," she continued slowly as if hedging her bets, "but I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who's needed to readjust slightly."

Martin was clearly uncomfortable with the personal turn this discussion had suddenly taken. _How much does she know about all of this? _Although unable to disguise the surprise on his face as he looked up, his tone was almost casual, conversational. "Yeah, the deposition and everything can't have been easy for Sam."

Viv smiled at him, her appraisal somewhere between humouring him and genuine understanding. "It wasn't _just_ Samantha I was talking about."

Well, he had his answer.

Before he had chance to process this last piece of information, the door in front of them slid open and Laura reappeared. Her eyes were still red, but she seemed calmer.

"I'm sorry", she breathed. "What else do you need to know?"

**TBC**

**A/N:** Does anyone else find it much harder to write Vivian and Martin than any of the other characters, or is it just me! I'm not fantastically happy with this attempt, so I just hope I kind of got my point across without it being too dull!


	5. Chapter Five

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". I make no profit from this.

**A/N:** Sorry about the slight delay in posting this – was having a little 'what have I got myself into with this whole fan fic/case file lark' moment, and it took me a couple of days to find a way to persevere and write my way out of it! Hopefully I'm over it now, so expect more chapters soon:)

**Chapter Five**

**Offices of Redding, Phillips and Hurst, 9.45am**

"No-one was supposed to find out what?"

Danny looked the stuttering security guard up and down. He had a feeling that this was going to be good.

**xxxxxxxxxxxx**

**9.55am**

"Well, that went well," mumbled Samantha, as she and Jack once again found themselves standing in the Partner's corridor of Redding, Phillips and Hurst. "Do you think that guy could have been _less_ forthcoming?"

"Oh I don't know," smirked Jack. "He did at least tell us his name."

Sam smiled ruefully. "And that he worked in the same department as Adam. Don't forget that!"

"Ah, of course. Although, personally, the sign on his door that said "Eric Walters, Junior Partner", kind of spoilt it for me. Sort of anti-climactic, don't you think?"

This time Sam allowed herself a little chuckle. "Yeah. These people must have _some_ non-disclosure policy in their contracts. Did you see his face when he was telling us the lawsuit was, 'no big deal'? I thought that pen cap was going to go right through his desk." She paused, the look on her face hesitantly inquisitive. "You were very calm in there."

"I figured the guy wasn't going to talk either way. We might as well wait until we have something more to go on, before we make him." He raised his eyebrows in obvious amusement at his partner. "What?"

Sam mimicked his expression. "Nothing." She softened slightly, her voice gently teasing. "That's very rational of you, Jack."

For a moment she thought he was going to continue the banter and call her on her playful insubordination. But his thoughts seemed to recoil back into themselves and he lowered his eyes. His voice fell to a deep mumble.

"Well, I learned that one the hard way."

Samantha felt something inside her, yet again, sink.

_Woah, where is this coming from? Why the hell can't I seem to leave it alone today? Why is it so damn important to me that I can still make him laugh? Do I feel guilty? Did Maria make me feel guilty…? But then it's not like he isn't playing along with it. What's his excuse?_

Keen to avoid the silence, which was edging toward oppressive, Jack forced a bitter but apologetic grimace before shrugging. "Well, if the little Chiefs won't talk, we might as well go straight to the top." The side of his mouth turned up as he angled his head to look at her. "You wanna be the good cop this time?"

In what was quickly becoming the pattern of the morning, they were once again interrupted by the vibration of a cell phone.

Sam smiled. "Oh well, it looks like my witty comeback will just have to wait."

This time Jack checked the caller ID before flipping it open.

"Danny. Any luck?"

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Now standing on the sidewalk leaning against his car, Danny Taylor grinned into his phone.

"Well, I think I've got a fair idea why no-one wants to talk about this lawsuit or…Monday."

Jack grunted impatiently.

"It would seem that there was… how did Bill put it? An incident – in the lobby on Monday evening, just after six thirty."

His boss filled in the blanks. "Around the time that Adam disappeared."

Danny's voice was now dripping with sarcasm. "Coincidence, huh?"

The look in Jack's eyes was now a familiar one. They were onto something. "Did you get any details?"

The younger agent looked back toward the front entrance of the building as he spoke. His mind's eye visualising the last place he knew Adam to have been.

"Not so many, I don't think the guard really knew too much. I get the feeling the Partners don't exactly keep him in the loop. And now I've seen this guy in action, you can't blame them. Not the greatest thinker of our time." He paused, assimilating the minor information he had acquired. "Best guess, someone called a meeting with all the parties involved in this suit, and things got out of hand. The way the guard told it, a couple of punches were thrown… one apparently at an unsuspecting receptionist who ended up in the ER with a bloody nose… Bill the hero comes in to calm things down but the lawyers tell him to go home. That they'll take care of it."

"Do you believe him?" A hint of incredulity crept into Jack's voice.

Danny didn't need to give it much thought. "The specific details – no way! But I don't think he's dumb enough to lie to me twice in the same morning."

Jack scoffed.

"Anyway," the younger agent continued, "we'll know soon enough. I've now got every last one of Monday's security tapes and I'm on my way back to the office. I'll let you know when I find something." He heard his supervisor exhale his affirmation. "Okay. You're cool to drive back with Sam, then?"

"Yeah, I'll survive… hopefully." Jack smiled to himself as he ended the call.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**10.30am**

"An _incident_?" Sam repeated under her breathe. Having been free to wander at will through the lesser mazes of the firm's sprawling corridors, now in the lion's den, the two agents found themselves under the watchful eye of the overly made-up, crimson manicured, Prada-wearing Personal Assistant to Senior Partner Charles Branton. As Jack rocked back and forth on his heels, his arms folded in frustration at being kept waiting, Samantha idly wondered how a PA could afford the designer get-up. This time, however, she succeeded in keeping her suspicions to herself.

Jack nodded, refusing to take his eyes off Gina, the PA, who was now standing in front of her boss's door. He scowled, indicating his watch.

"Okay, you know what? We've been standing out here for over twenty minutes. Is Mr. Branton likely to finish his phone conference any time soon? Or should we just leave our federal investigation, and abandon the hunt for your colleague, until there's a more convenient time for your employer?" Jack's voice had reached a low growl.

Gina hid her obvious intimidation behind a well-practised toss of her shoulder length blonde hair. Pretending to examine one of her talon like nails, she sneaked a glance through the glass panel in the Partner's door. Samantha took this opportunity to throw a sly glance at _her_ partner. Arms still folded and his glare unflinching, his earlier patience had clearly dissipated. She smiled. This was the Jack she knew and…

The intercom on Gina's desk buzzed angrily and forgetting, for a moment, her poise, she raced to the receiver. She listened respectfully for a moment before hanging up. Putting on her best tone of professionalism, she addressed the agents. "Mr. Branton will see you now."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Habitually ushering Sam in front of him, Jack stepped into the inner sanctum of Charles Branton – the most senior of the Senior Partners. Both he and Samantha caught themselves staring at the sheer opulence of the office. It was almost like stepping into a time warp. The walls were floor to ceiling mahogany boards. An iron cast fireplace, complete with a stuffed deer-head trophy presiding over it, dominated the left side. Straight ahead of them was a large window that, if it wasn't for the shuttered blind that covered it, would have been sure to afford them a view of most of Manhattan. The remaining wall space, including the area behind the door, was lined with bookshelves, also of dark wood, all covered in dusty law volumes. The sole light source was a tall standard lamp situated behind the desk, giving the lawyer an eerie glow. The only thing missing was a tobacco pipe and a bottle of liquor. The whole effect - when taken in conjunction with the austere or clinical environment that seemed to permeate every other level of operation - was truly bizarre.

Charles Branton, himself, was reclining in the deep-brown leather chair behind his desk as the agents entered. His hair was silver but his face and his hands held a deep sun-tan, out of place in the subterranean feel of his office. Jack was having a hard time reconciling the image of this man, so perfectly in fit with the portraits he had noticed earlier, with the image of the modern day lawyer whose business deals were more likely to be made on a golf course than in a smoke filled room at a gentleman's club. If any establishment was suffering with a clash between the old ways and the new, he considered – this was surely it.

As he watched his guests approaching, Branton pushed himself up out of his chair and rose to his feet, extending his hand to Jack. Jack took it in a firm but curt grasp, then watched in some amusement as the lawyer reluctantly offered Samantha the same courtesy. From the look on her face, he realised that his suggestion of making Sam the 'good cop' in this scenario may not quite work out as planned.

Lowering themselves into the two cushioned wooden chairs, conveniently placed on the near side of the desk, Jack flashed Sam a brief warning before beginning his attack. He appraised the lawyer calmly but the look in his eyes betrayed his cool exterior.

"Mr. Branton, we're not looking to make this difficult. So, let's just cut to the chase, alright?"

If the lawyer was ill at ease, having his control of the conversation, for once, imposed upon, he hid it well. Nodding, his gaze focused exclusively on the male agent.

Sensing that they had inadvertently discovered the key to at least some of his discomfort, Jack waited, knowing that Samantha would pick up his cue.

Without missing a beat, she leant forward until her hands were resting on the desk, forcing Branton to turn his attention toward her. Pasting on a genial smile, she played her femininity for all it was worth. The lawyer could do little to wipe the disbelief from his face, as in response, Jack settled back in his chair, purposefully glancing around the room. The message was clear. Samantha was very much in charge.

Forcing Branton to look her in the eye, her tone was crisp and professional. "So, how well do you know Adam Walker, Mr. Branton?"

As if fighting the impulse to direct his response to Jack, the lawyer swivelled in his chair until he faced the blonde. When he spoke his voice oozed with well-practised civility.

"Mr. Walker has been with us for over ten years. I hired him myself."

After making a note of his answer, more to re-enforce the gravity of the situation, than out of any real necessity, she re-established eye contact.

"And what kind of employee has Mr. Walker been during this time? Has he had any problems within the workplace that you know of?" She watched for a reaction but got none. "I don't know, if not with a colleague then with a client perhaps?"

Branton regarded her with an air of superiority, his tone was bordering dangerously on out-right condescension. "Miss…"

"Agent," Sam responded in a measured tenor, "Spade."

"Agent Spade," the lawyer intoned. "As you may have noticed, this is a large firm. We have hundreds of employees, and sadly, the other Partners and I do not have the time to keep up with every single one of the cases which come through our offices. Nor do we have time to keep up with issues in our employees' personal lives. Although, I do believe Mr. Walker has a wife somewhere. Have you spoken with her yet? In my experience, that is where the problem usually lies."

Thinking back to what Melissa had told them, Sam briefly raised an eyebrow but, with considerable will-power, let the comment pass. In the corner of her vision, she could clearly see the smirk playing across Jack's features. Well, at least someone's enjoying this, she thought.

Jack was enjoying this, maybe a little _too_ much, he considered. But there had always been something about the way this woman worked, that, if he let it, could over-power him every time. He watched as a dangerous smile passed over Sam's lips. As much for Branton's sake as his own, he braced himself.

"Oh, I'm sure you're selling yourself short, Mr. Branton." Sam's voice was light and airy. "I can't imagine that much of what happens in this building can really escape your notice." She paused, smiling sweetly. "Take this lawsuit, for example. I think you know a great deal about what happened here on Monday evening."

Branton froze momentarily. She'd got him. Their instinctive double-team dynamic kicked back. As Samantha fell silent, as if admiring her handy-work, Jack shifted his weight forward, seizing upon the lawyers sudden loss of poise. His gruff voice contrasted sharply with his partner's.

"As I said earlier, Mr. Branton. It'd save us all a lot of time if you could be straight with us. At this very moment, our colleague is headed back to our offices with your security footage from Monday – and I mean _all_ your footage." Branton shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but remained silent. "And so far, all your well-behaved employees have seemed _more_ concerned with their ability to feed us the company line, than they have about the fact that a colleague of theirs hasn't been seen or heard of in almost two days – since he left this building. Now, we know that _something _took place here on Monday, and we know that whatever it was had something to do with this law suit that everyone seems rather nervous about. So, if Mr. Walker's current situation has nothing to do with your firm, then great. But, if not, we _are_ going to find out about it, and there will be repercussions for _anyone_ who wilfully impedes a federal investigation."

From the sinking of Branton's shoulders, Jack had no need to ask if he had made himself clear. The lawyer suddenly looked smaller and decidedly older. His sleek façade dropped and for a moment the two agents saw him for what he was – a relic in a world that he didn't quite seem to accept. He quickly re-grouped, but when he finally spoke, he sounded wearily resigned.

"I know what this looks like, but you have to understand. There's nothing dishonest going on here." He ignored the identical sceptical glances thrown in his direction. "Despite what you may believe, there is nothing illegal going on here. But if _any_ of this gets out into the media, all this," he lifted his hands in indication, "could be history."

The two agents waited, slightly bemused, for him to elaborate. He complied.

"I know what you're thinking. A place like this, has money dripping from the ceiling." Jack smiled, despite himself. "And for the most part, you're right." He paused nostalgically. "Most of the Senior Partners, probably myself, most of all… it's like we're the last of a dying breed." He raised his eyes to meet those of the blonde woman in front of him. "And I'm sure that there are many out there who would consider that a good thing."

At this, Sam regarded him curiously.

"But a place like this, will live and die by its reputation. No matter how many fresh faces we bring in… I take it you saw our new workforce out there… It's our long-standing relationship with certain members of the business community that keeps the cash in their pockets and their yachts in our waters. If people lost confidence in our ability to maintain our professional standards, and the privacy which we have always prided ourselves on providing… It's a brave new world out there, and our place in it is not as certain as it once was."

Jack raised an eyebrow at the unexpected melodramatics. "I think I understand your position, Mr. Branton. If you can be of help to this investigation, then I will do everything in _my_ power to ensure you and your firm any confidentiality I can offer. But we need you to be a little more specific. We need to know _exactly_ who is involved in this lawsuit."

Branton sighed, as if about to recount something so distasteful, he could barely bring himself to tell it. He folded his hands on the desk as he began.

"There are certain industries that Redding, Phillips and Hurst has supported, almost since its inception. Rather unfortunately, in today's political climate that is, the chemical industry is one of those. One of our largest corporate clients at present is McKeever Co." He paused. "I assume you've heard of them. They have been in the press with some regularity of late."

Samantha nodded. Indeed McKeever Co. had received a rather large amount of media coverage in the past year – largely due to the 'administrative error' that had almost seen the destruction of a children's activity centre in Scarsdale several months earlier.

As if reading her mind, the lawyer continued. "That was an unfortunate incident. Anyway, our corporate department has always taken excellent care of McKeever. However, _they_ are not the only ones who have had trouble placating the community in the last few years. Many felt that we ourselves were falling behind in the public relations arena, Adam included, as I recall. So at some insistence, we have taken on board a couple of our own high profile pro-bono cases. The most recent of which, we were charged with protecting the interests of an environmental group attempting to obtain a piece of land outside the city which they claim should be a conservation area."

The agents, waiting patiently for the punch-line, were soon rewarded.

"Then matters became more complicated. McKeever and Co. decided that _they_ also wished to purchase the land and requested that we broker the deal for them. Unfortunately, some of my colleagues in corporate set to work before realising the huge conflict of interest this posed. Of course, when they did realise, we were forced to relinquish both cases, and the land was quickly snapped up by a third party. Both clients were understandably upset. When they realised they had no legal recourse against each other, they turned their attentions to our firm and launched a _joint_ lawsuit against us."

"And how, exactly, was Adam Walker involved in all of this?" Jack enquired.

Branton sighed once again. "Adam, as you probably know, works as a general legal counsel to the firm. He was the one who first spotted the conflict. He took quite an interest in our pro-bono work. When he took up the issue with corporate, some of his colleagues were non too pleased. Things got a little heated. A great deal of work had already been put into the deal on their part, and McKeever is such an important client to us."

"More important than the environment?" Samantha shrugged her shoulders, knowingly.

"This may seem cold-hearted to you, Agent Spade," Branton responded, "but we're a business, not a charity. Our economic concerns sometimes have to take precedence." He continued as if the interruption to his narrative had not occurred. "When the complaint against the firm was filed, it was the responsibility of Adam's department to oversee it. Normally such a task would be passed to a Senior Partner, but we wished to settle things diplomatically and, for whatever reason, the environmentalists seemed to respect Adam. We thought it prudent to let him handle the initial discussions."

"So you sent him into the firing squad." This was more a statement than a question, and Jack's tone was calm but somewhat accusatory.

"Not exactly, Agent Malone." The lawyer's tone was becoming icier. "In fact, last week it seemed Adam made considerable progress." His brow furrowed in recollection. "It was last Friday, as I recall. Adam came into my office and announced that he'd confirmed a meeting on Monday evening, for all three parties to sit down and discuss a mutual settlement. He believed that both McKeever and Greenways, that's the environmental group, were willing to resolve this quietly and amicably."

Sam looked surprised. "And they'd actually agreed to this?"

Her shock deepened as she saw the almost fatherly flicker of affection that fell across the older man's face. "Adam has a gift for something that you probably won't find in many of our new recruits on the floor." He paused again. "Compromise, it's quite the lost art… at least for a corporate lawyer."

"And how did Mr. Walker propose to achieve this?" inquired Jack.

Branton smiled again. "There were a lot of things about this business that Adam found distasteful. But that doesn't mean he couldn't play the game if he so chose. How do you think he survived in this firm for ten years? As far as I can tell, he pointed out, in no uncertain terms, to McKeever, the unfavourable press which they would undoubtedly once again receive, if it were leaked to the press that they had taken on an environmental agency to buy ten acres of land which they barely needed. After the Scarsdale fiasco, their investors were already getting a little jumpy. Another bout with the media may not have gone down too well."

Jack frowned. It was starting to become clearer, but they were still missing a couple of rather large pieces.

"And what about Greenways?"

The lawyer almost sneered in the seeming flawlessness of his employee's scheme. "Who do you think was funding the suit against us? If McKeever decided to quietly drop the action, thereby avoiding the negative publicity, Greenways was effectively neutralised. We were working for them for no expense, and they'd never find another firm willing to take them on for an action against us. There was no way the suit could continue."

"So, Adam screwed the environmental agency." Sam stated bluntly.

Branton shrugged. "It's not like they really had a case. If it hadn't been for McKeever's insistence, they never would have filed suit in the first place."

"But," Jack began slowly, "it's conceivable that certain people at the agency may be non too happy with your current employee of the month?"

Again the lawyer was ambivalent. "Maybe. Who knows with these activist types? There's always something they're fighting about."

To Jack's amazement, both he and his partner managed to refrain from commentary. He took a moment to digest what they had just learned. Something still wasn't right.

"Okay, I might be missing something here. But, if everything was all settled on Friday, what the hell happened here on Monday evening which landed one of your receptionists in the ER?"

Even in the dim light, the agents detected the blush which rose in Branton's tanned cheeks. "You heard about that, then?"

"Yes," Jack replied simply.

The lawyer nodded acceptingly. "To be honest, I'm really not sure. The representatives from both establishments – which from Greenways I got the impression was most of their members – arrived here earlier than expected, around six-twenty. The meeting wasn't due to begin until six forty-five. They were down in the foyer waiting to be shown up to the conference room. Then, around six-thirty, my secretary gets an urgent call from security. Some sort of 'skirmish'," he chose his phrasing a little too carefully, "was taking place in the lobby." He looked across at the two agents, as if gauging their reactions. They gave him nothing. "By the time I got down there, every last Junior Partner involved it seemed, all twenty of them, from Adam's department and corporate, had beaten me to it. But everything seemed to be under control. I was told that a couple of testosterone fuelled punches had been thrown by certain individuals on both sides, but it was a ruckus, nothing more."

Samantha smiled. "I think your receptionist might disagree."

Branton was beginning to have a harder time concealing his contempt. "As I said, the incident was unfortunate. The young lady involved was escorted to the hospital. It was getting late, and there were only a handful of employees left in the building. I told Bill to lock the front entrance for the night, and take the evening off. The night guard was on at nine, and we'd be fine until then."

"And what did you do then?" asked Sam.

The lawyer now seemed unperturbed. "As you will no doubt see on the tape, we escorted everyone upstairs and conducted our intended order of business. The Senior Partners were already in the conference room, waiting for us. We finished around eight o'clock and everyone went home. The outcome was much as Adam had predicted. McKeever backed down and the suit was dropped."

"That can't have been a fun meeting," smiled Samantha.

Branton shrugged. "Few of them are."

"So that means Adam would have left the building considerably later than your security guard reported?" Jack concluded somewhat sarcastically. "Considering the security guard wasn't even there."

The lawyer hesitated.

"I'm assuming that Adam attended the meeting he had gone to all this trouble to set up for you?" the agent continued.

Branton blinked, as if something were just coming to him. "Now that you mention it, I don't recall seeing Adam at the meeting at all."

"What?" intoned Samantha. "And you didn't think to mention this earlier?"

Branton did at least have the courtesy to look apologetic, if not embarrassed. "With all the talk of his disappearance, it quite honestly slipped my mind."

"You're saying, you have no recollection of Adam Walker being present during the meeting?" Jack's expression belied his own disbelief.

Branton shook his head. He appeared genuinely puzzled, but this time he spoke with absolute certainty. "No, actually, I don't."

**TBC**


	6. Chapter Six

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". I make no money from this!

**A/N:** Don't faint, she's managed a short chapter! More on its way, though…

**Chapter Six**

**Office of the New York Branch of the FBI, Manhattan.**

**1.05pm**

Danny Taylor turned his attention from the black and white monitor he'd been staring at intently since his arrival back at the office almost two hours previously. Pausing the fuzzy image on the screen, he spun around in his chair to see who was interrupting his concentration.

"Hey, man. Wasn't expecting you back so soon."

Martin Fitzgerald smiled and shrugged off his coat. "Yeah. Viv's got the suburbs covered. She's checking out Laura Walker's alibi and talking to the neighbours. We thought I'd be better use here making a start on the credit card and phone records. An officer brought me back in."

Danny laughed. "Got the short straw, huh?"

"Something like that. You come up with anything yet?" Martin pulled up a chair next to Danny's, staring inquisitively at the monitor in front of them. His eyes widened. "Is that the security footage?"

His colleague grabbed the remote on the desk and grinned. "Something like that. Man, you gotta see this. To think I used to give you a hard time, Mr. White-Collar-Crime. This place on Monday, not what I was expecting."

Martin watched as the screen jumped silently into life. The digital counter across the bottom read **01.24.05 – 18:25:31**.

_The small seating area in the marbled foyer of Redding, Phillips and Hurst was at maximum capacity. Down its centre appeared to be an invisible line. _

_On one side of this line there were seven inert figures. Four were seated, whilst the remaining three stood between their colleagues and the reception desk. A small woman behind the desk was faintly visible in the top left corner of the screen. The grainy quality of the footage suggested they were all identically clad in neat dark suits. _

_On the other side of this divide, in an indistinct huddle, stood a group of about twenty other figures_._ In contrast to the individuals opposite, their appearance was irregular. Even in the stillness there seemed to be a mass energy about them as they shuddered on the flickering image. _

_Distracted, they turned en masse. Something shifted in the bottom right corner of the screen, then spun back into view. The camera captured the closer view of a well-dressed man as he entered the building through its revolving front entrance. As the group turned to face the door, an individual from within it bolted out in the direction of the new arrival. He stopped as he came chest to chest with the man. _

_As if attached by an unseen cord, the group appeared to move with its errant member. Two of the seated figures twitched. Followed closely by their standing colleagues, they crossed the floor. The two men in the middle of the growing bunch gestured wildly. The smaller figure re-appeared in the top left corner. Everything became still and for a second it seemed as if the frame had been frozen. _

_Suddenly there came a sharp movement in the centre of the screen. A fist. The group converged. In the silence, the cluster seemed to fall in on itself. Around its edge, limbs flailed and bodies shuddered angrily. Several minutes passed in this manner until the momentum shifted toward the desk. A uniformed figure appeared and hovered on the edge of the action. Without warning, the smaller figure became absorbed into the mass to be just as quickly dispelled against a nearby pillar. _

_The screen was then flooded as another stream of figures, also in suits, poured into view and dispersed into the crowd. As quickly as it had begun, the group stilled, and everything became motionless._

Danny hit the pause button, and looked up at his astonished co-worker, still grinning. "Just a typical Monday evening at Manhattan's most prestigious law firm!"

Martin was still watching the now un-moving screen. "Was that for real?"

"Oh yeah." He looked at the notebook in front of him, pages and pages filled with almost illegible scribble. "I spoke to Jack a couple of hours ago. That, apparently, was the _amicable_ resolution of a lawsuit jointly filed by McKeever – the chemical guys – and Greenways, the environmental agency out in Brooklyn. According to a Senior Partner, that was just a tiny _incident_ that didn't bear mentioning. Despite the fact it was Adam Walker who arranged that little meeting."

The other agent looked sceptical. "Incident? That looked more like a full blown fist-fight. I take it the first guys in the suits were McKeever's?"

Danny nodded. "Yep. Who would have thought the suits had it in 'em?"

This time Martin smiled. "Oh, you'd be surprised!" He paused, thinking. "So, the bigger group, they were Greenways? And the ones at the end, the lawyers?"

"That's right." He looked at his scrawlings once more. "I checked the visitor's log, and everyone except that last guy who came in, was in there. But it's not like he had much of a chance to sign in. There were twenty-one people signed in from Greenways. The tape then shows everyone in the lobby - McKeever, Greenways and the lawyers - headed toward the elevator here." He tapped the top of the screen with his pen. "A woman comes down to accompany the unlucky receptionist to the hospital, and no-one else, besides the security guard, goes in or out of the building."

Martin frowned. "Was Adam Walker in that mess?"

His colleague shook his head. "No. I checked the building's swipe card system – it figures that the only modern security they have is designed to keep tabs on their own employees. He swiped into the building at nine am sharp, but there's no record that he signed back out." He paused thoughtfully. "Of course, the systems not that hi-tech, so he could easily have just left with someone else, but it doesn't tie in with the security guard's original story."

"Do you think the security guard is lying?" Martin's frown remained. "I know there's no proof, as yet, of foul play, but is he a viable suspect?"

Danny grinned. "The lying part - I'd put money on it. The other question – I kinda doubt it. His alibi's easy enough to check out. He says he went straight to a bar around the corner and stayed there 'til after midnight. Besides, I doubt he could pull this off by himself, and I can't imagine anyone would hire him to take care of a problem for them – the guy's an idiot."

"So we're no-where on this?" the other agent enquired.

Danny shrugged, in frustration. "Not yet. But Jack and Sam have gone to check out Greenways. From what they've heard, some people there had several reasons to be non-too happy with Mr. Walker. Hopefully they'll come up with something."

Martin nodded. "Hopefully. Unless the wife was lying to us big-time, there didn't seem to be too much at home he could be running away from. I'll go run his credit cards, see if I can't find _something_ on this guy." With that he pushed his chair back and headed to his own workstation.

Danny stopped for a second, deep in thought. He slowly ejected the video tape from the machine, before picking up another from the pile on his desk. Slipping it in, he pushed play. Scrolling quickly through the action, he kept his eyes glued to the screen. Suddenly, he shifted forward in his seat, reaching for the pause button.

"Well, that's interesting…," he mumbled to himself.

**TBC**

**A/N:** Sorry if this feels like too much of a filler chapter. It had to go somewhere and this felt like the best place!


	7. Chapter Seven

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". I make no money from this!

**A/N:** Firstly, thank you to those who are still reviewing (and saying nice things like, "no, that wasn't just filler"!) I hope the case file is still holding people's interest. It is all headed somewhere, I promise. My once neat piece of paper with all my 'timeline' notes for the story is now full of scribbles and arrows, so this should, in theory, all come together nice and tidily. But, if anyone who's still reading (I know there are a few of you out there on Maple Street – thank you again!) does start to notice any gaping chasm-style holes appearing in the plot, don't be shy to come forward! ;)

**Chapter Seven**

**Headquarters of Greenways Environmental Agency, Brooklyn**

**1.54pm (42 hours missing)**

"Can you _believe_ Charles Branton?"

Although Jack could feel his frustration mounting over the morning's near fruitless investigation, as he stood on the sidewalk outside Greenways' battered frontage, he found himself, once again, smothering a grin. His analytical mind was silently explaining all the reasons why he shouldn't be feeling this unusual emotion, but for the first time in over a year, he was refusing to listen. He sneaked a glance at the source of his amusement. Her blonde hair was tucked into her coat, protecting her neck from the wind that was now whistling around them. Her arms were folded tightly against her chest, he suspected only partly to keep the warmth in, as she huddled in the slight shelter afforded by the building's steps.

"I mean, it's like he's living in the dark ages. What was with the…"

Her partner couldn't hold back his smile any longer. Tilting his head he looked up at her.

"Sorry, I didn't realise we were still having _this_ conversation!"

That one earned him a mock glare. "It's not been _that_ long. And you heard all that paternalistic, patriarchal bull shit he was spouting. The guy just got to me, okay?"

Jack smirked. "You think?" He looked at his watch. "And I'm not sure I ever want to find out what you class as a _long_ conversation, 'cause you've been on _this_ for nearly two and a half hours."

Sam glanced down at her wrist and winced. "Sorry." She offered an apologetic smile. "But I still think there was something _off_ at that firm. I just don't buy it. Unless there's something on those tapes, we actually have _less_ information than we started with. Why would the security guard tell Danny that Adam left at six forty-five, when he wasn't even there. And how could they not even think to mention that Adam failed to turn up for a meeting _he'd_ arranged. I mean, where the hell was he?"

"I think that might be why they call this _missing persons_." That earned him another glare, but he continued unperturbed. "All right, you've already accused me of being rational today, so let's look at this logically." Samantha sighed her acquiescence. "We might not have a clear _time_ of disappearance, but we still have a _place_. From what Danny said, the guard was probably just trying to cover his own ass with his bosses. I know Branton isn't your favourite person, and he might have held back a couple of pertinent details, but I didn't get the impression he was outright lying. I don't think he has any idea why Adam wasn't at that meeting. We've spent the last two hours talking to everyone at the firm who had anything to do with the lawsuit, and unless there's some professional rivalry that we're missing, I just don't see any of them as having done anything to Adam, if that's even what this is about." He paused for breath. "The only people who it seems Adam wronged in this lawsuit are right in here." He indicated the shabby two-storey building in front of them. "So, shall we…?"

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Pushing open the splintered wooden door of Greenways' base of operations, the sight that met them couldn't have been any further removed from their morning's location if it had tried. The exterior door led them into a narrow corridor lit by a dim bulb hanging miserably from a frayed cluster of wires in the ceiling. The walls were, for the most part, a sludgy green in colour. But the flaking paint chips gave them a textured aesthetic. Posters and banners advertising a variety of projects and worthy causes were tacked haphazardly along the passageway, undoubtedly covering a more serious problem than bad décor. Under their feet, a tattered brown carpet revealed the linoleum which had previously been in its place. This combined with the damp patches on the ceiling to produce a musty odour which permeated the entrance. For some reason, Jack felt himself being reminded of his college days.

Greenways' administrative centre was in fact, much as it appeared from the outside, a rundown town-house which had been semi-converted for non-domestic use. A rickety flight of stairs on their left led to the upper floor. Whilst directly ahead of them lay what looked to be a make-shift kitchenette, as dilapidated as the rest of the property.

Samantha moved in front of Jack to get a better look, absently guarding her coat from coming into contact with the decaying wall. Not wanting to think about what other horrors the bad lighting may be concealing, she took a closer look at the messages being screamed from the artwork. Mostly hand-drawn, the posters had a radical-student quality to them. A couple made satirical reference to the current political situation. But on the whole, the images detailed various effects of environmental damage in ways which were both graphic and disturbing. Seeing what had caught Sam's attention, Jack turned so the two were shoulder to shoulder. Taking in the sight before him, he kept his voice low into her ear.

"It's kind of hard to imagine the artist behind _these_ playing nice with rich guys in suits who are out to screw them over. You wouldn't see pictures like these on 'Green Peace' fliers."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I'm going to take a wild guess and say that some people here can get pretty angry."

The conversation was halted as they both turned sharply, searching for the source of the sharp noise that had interrupted them. Simultaneously exhaling covert sighs of relief, they looked up to see a man, of about sixty, making his way down the creaking wooden stairs toward them.

As if completely at ease with the sight of two FBI agents in his hallway, the man smiled warmly and gave a small wave. "Agents Malone and Spade, I assume. Glad you found us okay. I'm Steve Mitchell, director and founder of Greenways." Off Jack's rather blank stare, humour filled the older man's eyes. "We spoke on the phone. Welcome to our humble abode."

Jack extended his hand as the director reached ground level. As he took in the man's plump form in his knitted sweater and neatly creased khaki pants, a question formed in his expression. "You're Steve Mitchell?"

Steve laughed as his smile grew wider. "Not what you were expecting, huh? Don't worry, I get that a lot!"

Jack tried to cover, but it was a little late. "Sorry, it's just that…"

"You were expecting a pony-tail, long beard and an earring?" He watched as the agent shrugged apologetically. He chuckled. "That's what my grand-kids keep telling me, but I figure we all have to grow up sometime. It's hard to get people to take you seriously when you're a walking cliché. Besides, there's enough young people around this place. I'm never short a young revolutionary, should I need one."

Whilst Jack and Samantha contemplated the significance of that last statement, Steve turned and made his way back up the staircase. He gestured casually to the agents, but his tone suggested something more.

"Maybe we should talk in my office."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Steve Mitchell's office was a converted box room opposite the stairwell. Although cramped and tired, it was clean and neat. An old computer took up most of his thrift-store desk, and the tops of the three locked filing cabinets were piled high with eye-catching fliers and publications. Through the window behind him, Sam could see a couple of skinny kids kicking an old tyre in the street below.

Both agents were a little surprised when Steve pre-empted their questions.

"Well, I'm guessing you're here because you've spent the morning at Redding, Phillips and Hurst, and you want to know if we're the reason why you're searching for Adam Walker."

Sam was the first to react. "Mr. Mitchell…"

"Steve, please." He smiled kindly. "Look, I know you must hear a lot of B.S. in your line of work, and I'm not expecting you to believe what I'm about to say. But, I'm telling you, the people at Greenways, they're the last people who would want to see anything bad happen to Adam."

Jack stopped him, his tone already hinting at his scepticism. "All right, you'll have to forgive my apparent ignorance on this subject, but didn't Adam Walker just screw you and your organization out of a rather large amount of money?" The older man was still smiling. "I don't know what you're finding so funny, Mr. Mitchell. Adam Walker has been missing for nearly two days, since around the time of a meeting he was meant to be having with you, coincidentally. And he has a worried wife, and a young child, who I'd imagine would very much like him home in one piece as soon as possible. Now I don't find _that_ all that amusing."

The director sobered instantly. "I'm sorry that Adam's missing. I truly am. But you have to believe me when I say I'm as confounded about this as anyone. I like Adam. We all do. In fact, I was a little surprised when he didn't show up for the meeting on Monday night, but then I thought, all things considered, maybe he was just playing it safe by keeping away. Not wanting to arouse any suspicion amongst his colleagues."

This time it was Samantha who interrupted. "Excuse me, but, um, what exactly are you talking about?"

Steve regarded them with an air of resignation. "All right. I know what the lawyers at Adam's firm must have told you, and I know what assumptions you must be making about us." He gestured helplessly. "A group of radicals who refuse to live in the real world, and who go around starting fights, like our self-righteousness is going to save the planet." He sighed. "I know we're just this tiny, unimportant organization. I mean, look at this place. We've barely changed since I set the whole thing up almost forty years ago. Most of my members are college students, looking for a sense of purpose. Or worse, mixed-up, angry kids who sign up looking for the wrong target to direct their anger at. We go around trying to educate people about the damage we're doing, but none of them really seem to care once they've taken our pamphlet and moved on. We rarely accomplish anything even news-worthy."

Jack met his gaze. "I'm not trying to be insensitive here, Mr. Mitchell. But what does any of this have to do with Adam Walker?"

The older man's eyes took on a new energy. "Adam wanted to help us change all that." Seeing their expectant glances, he continued. "Did you know Adam used to work for an environmental agency before he moved to New York?"

Sam nodded. "His secretary mentioned something about that."

"Well, at first I thought it was just his guilty conscience talking, you know? This corporate lawyer calls me up, telling me one of the biggest firms in the city wants to work on our behalf. But then he actually came out here to meet with me, and I could just tell. He really wanted to do this. I didn't know this when we first met, but he'd been pushing this with his bosses for almost a year before they finally agreed. They were reluctant enough to do anything for free, and they certainly didn't realise that Adam already had us in mind as a potential client."

"How did Adam come to seek Greenways out?" enquired Jack. "Surely there are other agencies like yours out there."

Steve smiled. "There are plenty. Luckily for us, an old college friend of Adam's used to work with us and suggested that we needed some help funding new projects. Adam got hold of some of our literature and obviously liked what he read. Next thing I know, he's sitting right where you are now."

"And how long ago did all this happen?" Sam looked up from the notes she'd been taking.

"Around six months ago." His brow creased in concentration. "We filed the plans for the conservation land right away. I'm assuming you already know all about that minor fiasco?" The agents nodded in confirmation. "Adam was devastated, blamed himself. We all told him it wasn't his fault, but he was determined to set things right. So when he heard that McKeevers were planning on suing the firm, he suggested that we get in on the action."

Jack stopped him once again. "Let me get this straight. Adam Walker encouraged you to sue his own firm?"

Steve shrugged almost guiltily. "I know, it's not exactly ethical, especially considering his role in the firm. But I think he was just sick of playing by the rules. Of course, it was a hard sell, at first, to some of our members. They were a touch… apprehensive about 'getting into bed with corporate America', was I think the phrase they used. But Adam turned them around. They really respect him."

"If Adam was so keen for you to get involved in the lawsuit in the first place, then why was he then pushing to settle all of a sudden? What was in it for you?" Sam's mind was quickly pulling the new information together.

The director sighed. "That, I'm afraid, was a no win situation." He thought about how best to elaborate. "You see, there was no way the firm was ever going to settle. Adam knew the best way to get rid of McKeever, and he couldn't do anything to help us without showing disloyalty to his employers, and probably losing his job and his chance to practise law again whilst he was at it. None of us wanted to see that happen."

"So, what did he offer you?" Jack was becoming impatient.

"Free counsel, for as long as he's with Redding, Phillips and Hurst." Steve stated simply. "He said he'd told the Partners that if they refused, we'd already threatened to go to the press, shouting about how wealthy lawyers and business men were bullying organizations who are just trying to do some good in the community. A fairly inflammatory sob-story."

"And they agreed?"

The older man met Jack's eyes. "They had no reason not to. They'd agreed to it before, and after Adam's manoeuvre with McKeever last week, he was their golden-boy. They had no reason to distrust him."

Jack still had his doubts. "Well, if everything was so fine, how did a receptionist end up with a broken nose on Monday night?"

Steve laughed ruefully. "Just because the more… passionate members here trusted Adam, doesn't mean they weren't still upset, shall we say, with McKeevers. I tried to convince them not to come to the meeting, but they said they wanted to show everyone that they weren't just rolling over for the chemical industry suits. Some comments were made, I tried to stop them, but everything just got out of hand. Believe me, I gave them hell for it when we finally got back here. That's exactly the kind of behaviour that I've always tried to avoid. But they're young, enthusiastic, naïve…"

"So, with Adam gone," Samantha concluded, "Greenways has lost one if its most valuable supporters."

The director nodded sadly. "Yes, and a valued friend."

The quiet was broken by a chirping from Jack's suit pocket. Indicating his cell phone, he pushed his seat back and abruptly left the room. Samantha smiled apologetically at a now sober Steve Mitchell.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**2.36pm**

Leaning back in his chair, Danny Taylor dialled a familiar number. As his boss picked up he smiled.

"Hey, how's it going…" He laughed at the response. "Well, I've watched those security tapes and might have something that'll help… Yeah… Also, we've just run some of Adam Walker's records, and there are a couple of things that you might want to take a look at…"

**TBC**


	8. Chapter Eight

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". I make no money from this!

**A/N:** Sorry about the extremely delayed posting (after being so efficient last week) – real life had to get in the way this weekend before my friends started thinking I'd dropped off the face of the earth! Thank you for some lovely feedback; it still makes my day!

On we go – an interlude of sorts...

**Chapter Eight**

**Outside Greenways HQ, Brooklyn. 2.40pm**

"Do you wanna grab some lunch?"

The comment was innocuous enough, but Samantha was definitely caught off guard.

At first almost idly, Jack pondered the sharp feeling in his stomach as he watched the emotions play out on her face. Not their presence, so much, as the simple comprehension, they were somehow beyond him. For the first time that day he could sense a distraction about her, a wall. She wasn't quite with him. A notion struck him. Away from the job, and the shared instinct that may well have drawn them together in the first place, _this_ was what was left. _This_ was the true consequence of his actions, his legacy. A sudden realisation dawned. For all the sensations that this woman could arouse within him, there was one which he valued most, which he had _always_ valued most. The one thing his defunct marriage had long since failed to provide. The one thing even now she gave unquestioningly to him. The one which, at least emotionally, he had made little attempt to return. Comfort. Momentarily stunned by the profound sense of loss this epiphany of sorts incurred, he felt himself recoil. Skipping over any number of clichés that befitted the moment, he settled for the fleeting of thought that _there truly is nothing like regret_.

"We can get something to take back to the office," he heard himself offer.

Maybe it was the ease with which this lazy proposition left his lips. Or, maybe it was the familiarity it brought with it. Sam smiled, but it seemed more like a trained reflex than a true reflection of feeling. There was no doubt that feeling was indeed there, but she had yet to ascertain just quite what it was or what it meant. In fact, _not _deciphering said feelings had become almost a full time job of late. It was easier, she considered with an inkling of irony, when he was married. As much as she had at times fantasized, mostly when left alone in her bed at three a.m., about what could be if they could just be together, the insurmountable road block that had been Jack's family was a comfortable boundary. It was safe. It wasn't that she had intended to get her heart broken or her barriers torn down. At the time, she just hadn't imagined that was still possible. She hadn't been lying when she had told him how hard it was pretending that nothing had happened between them. The melancholy she'd felt as she suggested 'maybe in another life' had surprised even her. But in many ways, it encompassed their relationship – an intense series of defining moments which they both knew could lead no further. It truly was what they both needed at the time. But then the rules had changed on her. First there was Chicago, then the divorce, then the custody loss. It was as if someone was moving the boundaries, and for the first time since she'd met Jack Malone, she no longer knew where she stood. Then, of course, there was that other boundary all of her own making.

"Yeah, I could use some food," she nodded. "I think there's a diner on the next block that…"

Jack's smile was hesitant but he wilfully held her gaze. "I remember."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**3.02pm**

"If Steve Mitchell's on the level and Branton's not still playing with us, I hate to say it, but this case seems to be going nowhere. I hope Danny's got something good for us." Jack paused. Leaning his elbow against the window he turned in his seat to look over at the figure next to him. "Sam?... Samantha?" No response. "Sam, is… um… everything okay?"

Samantha looked up, startled. "What?" Jack's face held a look of concern. "Sorry… Just thinking, I guess?"

A hint of amusement appeared in his eyes. "I've just never seen a pastrami sandwich hold anyone's attention for quite that long."

Sam smiled, shaking herself out of her trance, and looked back down. In her lap was a half-opened sandwich. "Sorry, I really zoned out there for a minute."

"Or ten. Considering you were the one who insisted we ate these in the car before we drove back." He indicated to the crumbs scattered over the passenger side of the vehicle that his own lunch now consisted of. "Is there a problem with the food or with the company!"

When his partner's answer was slow in the making he chuckled faintly. "Okay, now there's a question I didn't want an honest answer to."

Realising the implications of her silence, she looked up again, hoping that he'd read the guilt on her face as an indication of her faux-pas and nothing more. "God. Sorry, Jack. It's not you."

She watched him silently. Was that disappointment that seemed to register at her words?

"Oh… um. I know that I, er… If there's anything I… If there's anything you want to talk about…"

_Now there's a question you don't want an honest answer to_, she thought briefly.

Although his remark was unfinished, the sentiment was conveyed. The smile that it invoked was this time rueful but undoubtedly genuine.

He returned the expression. "Sorry, I guess there are still some rules to this I'm a little hazy on."

The corner of Samantha's mouth curled up as her shoulder's relaxed. "There are rules to this!"

Although unaware of any tension, Jack felt his own body relax. "I used to think so."

"What changed?"

Sam's response was more of a challenge than she intended and she quickly softened it, tilting her head toward him almost inquisitively. She had expected Jack to mutter gruffly and close up, as she probably would have done had this comment been directed at her. But instead he seemed to be giving his answer an unnerving amount of consideration. When he spoke, his voice was verging on gentle.

"I'm not sure yet." He seemed to be appraising her closely. "But something has."

If he was expecting a response to this comment, it didn't show. His face became impassive as Samantha smoothly put the car in drive and pulled back out into the traffic.

**TBC**


	9. Chapter Nine

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". I make no money from this!

**A/N:** Just when you're waiting for one chapter, two come along at once…

**Chapter Nine**

**Office of the New York Branch of the FBI, Manhattan.**

**3.45pm**

By the time Jack and Samantha made it back to the bullpen, Vivian had also returned and was at her desk flicking through her case notes. She looked up as the two agents entered. There was something subtle about their posture that she hadn't noticed in a while and she found herself wishing that she hadn't seen it today. When she turned her attention back to her desk, she realised that she wasn't the only one observing.

Jack followed Sam to her desk, lingering a moment longer than he normally would, before muttering something and heading toward his office. Whatever he had mumbled made Samantha smile, and she was still smiling when another agent approached her.

"Hey. Did you and Jack get anything interesting?"

"Oh, hey Martin. Not really. Well, interesting, but not really that useful."

The young agent tried to catch her eye, but she was already searching in her coat pocket for her notebook. As if she felt him avert his eyes, she looked back up.

"Heard you and Danny may be onto something though?"

He smiled, as if the act alone would force the same reaction from Samantha. When it didn't, his expression became concerned.

"Are you okay, Sam?"

"Huh?"

Martin couldn't tell what she was thinking, but the direction of her blank stare was causing the return of a nagging sensation that over the last few months he had persuaded himself to cast aside. Putting away the doubts which were again beginning to push forward into his conscious thoughts, he persevered.

"It's just that you seem distracted. Did something happen with… I mean, I know Jack's not been in the greatest of moods recently…"

At this Samantha jerked her eyes back up, inadvertently meeting his in the process.

"No." She noted guiltily that the sharpness of her response had almost caused Martin to wince. "Sorry." She lightened her tone. "I guess, today's just been kind of frustrating… with the case, I mean."

She could sense Martin still watching her. The look on his face told her that he was unconvinced by her proclamation but was choosing not to push the matter; at least not for the moment. At the ease with which she discerned this, a fresh wave of guilt washed over her. Why did he make things so damn easy on her? Why was he so… _available_?

He again tried to meet her eyes. "We'll talk later, okay?"

She attempted another smile, but was gratefully interrupted by Danny marching over to them waving a piece of paper in Martin's face.

"I got it. We were right."

As Sam looked on, her focus now back, Jack re-emerged from his office and the five of them began to take their usual seats at the conference table.

As he slipped into his chair, Jack couldn't help but sneak yet another look at the blonde on his left – something he'd been doing, albeit more surreptitiously, since he'd been sitting at his desk a few minutes earlier. His eyes darkened slightly as his closing words before the drive back to the office echoed in his head. He was now acutely aware that he was not the only one observing Sam's reactions. Shrugging off the thought and forcing his attention back to the task at hand, he glanced around the table before beginning.

"So, how are we getting on? Danny? Martin? Viv?"

Perhaps out of habit, it was Vivian who spoke up first, her gentle but matter-of-fact tone reverberating around the room. "Well, there's been no ransom demand, and it seems unlikely there will be one. The Walkers are wealthy but not filthy rich, and from talking to their neighbours, it seems doubtful that anyone would have a real personal grudge against the family. I also checked the morgues and hospitals, there was nothing."

Jack raised his head in her direction. "Did the wife's alibi check out?"

"Seems fairly tight." Viv nodded. "Several neighbours said that they saw Laura's colleague drop her home just before ten like she said. Her son was with another neighbour, sleeping. She took him home which was when she discovered Adam wasn't there. The neighbour came in with her and when Laura still couldn't get hold of Adam, she was actually the one to suggest calling the police. She said Laura was pretty worried."

"Did you find out who the colleague was?" Jack was scribbling a couple of notes.

"Yeah, I called the hospital to confirm. It seems Laura regularly carpools with a couple of co-workers who live in her neighbourhood. The one who drove that particular night was a Dr. Hasler. He's married, lives a couple of streets over from the Walkers and is a family acquaintance."

Jack looked up again. "Is there any chance he's more than that?"

Vivian shook her head. "No, I asked around. Another colleague of theirs, a female doctor, an Alice Zhou, was in the car with them Monday night, as she is most nights. Although she didn't sound too convinced that Dr. Hasler isn't involved with _someone_ on their staff, she was positive that it isn't Laura Walker."

"Does that fit with your impression of Laura Walker?"

Vivian paused and took a moment to look at Jack. She hadn't seen him this intense and focused over what was turning out to be a fairly hopeless case in quite a while. She briefly found herself wondering yet again about the source of this sudden energy, but remembering the words that had passed between her and her old friend the last time this subject had been raised, she turned her attention back to his question.

"She definitely seems genuine. She was fairly distraught and seems to have no idea where her husband could be. When I suggested another woman, she actually seemed hopeful."

At this Jack raised his eyebrows. "Well, there's a new one. Is there any indication that that's the situation?"

This time it was Danny who spoke up, indicating the sheets of highlighted paper in front of him. "It's funny you should mention that."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Danny paused, as if waiting for everyone's full attention. When he felt all eyes on him, he grinned and looked at Jack.

"Well, first off I'm hoping there'll be some sort of new reality show, I don't know, 'When Good Lawyers Go Bad', or something, 'cause there's money to be made off that security tape." Jack's brow furrowed questioningly as Danny exchanged glances with Martin and continued. "Those guys really got into it on Monday. That wasn't a scuffle, more like a full blown fist fight." He looked across the table again.

Martin nodded in confirmation, smiling. "Yeah. It's amazing that it was only a bystander who ended up in the hospital."

Jack seemed to be losing patience. "Well, was Adam on that tape?"

Danny shook his head. "No, but that's the interesting part, at least from our point of view. He wasn't on _that_ tape, but he was on the one before. He didn't use his swipe card, but the camera caught him leaving the building at six fourteen."

"So, he left before the fight broke out?" Jack was thinking aloud.

Danny nodded again. "Yep. He was with a bunch of other employees, although no-one seemed to be paying much attention to him. I almost didn't notice him myself."

"So, the guard wasn't lying?" Sam interceded. "He really did see Adam leave that night."

The other agent's grin grew wider. "I think the truth unintentionally slipped out. He was so busy lying to me about everything else, he just didn't notice."

Jack was deep in thought once again. "So we now have an actual time of disappearance?" His mind was rapidly bringing together the day's information. "Anything else we should know about?"

Danny and Martin looked at each other again. This time Danny let his colleague take the lead.

"Well, when Danny was checking the tapes I went through Adam Walker's credit card purchases and emails. It seems that this might not be a case for us after all."

There was a tone in his voice that made Samantha look at him curiously.

He continued. "First I went through his phone records, home and office but nothing unusual showed up. The only calls the guy makes which aren't work related are to his wife. But then I went over his financial records and it appears that the first thing Adam did when he arrived at his office on Monday morning was to purchase a plane ticket on his personal credit card to Boston. His flight was leaving at nine thirty that evening, open return."

Jack sighed. "So we've been chasing our tails all day, and you're saying he left voluntarily?"

Sensing an unusual hostility in his bosses' remark, Danny intervened keeping his voice light. "Well, that's a good thing right?"

Martin seemed unwilling to sit quietly. "Yeah, no harm, no foul… Unless, of course, you're the guy's wife and child."

There was an awkward silence until Viv spoke up. "Is there anything other than the plane ticket to suggest that's the case?"

Danny replied again. "I went through Adam's cell phone records and something did come up. He made a call at 8.17 Monday night to a cell in the Boston area."

"That's two hours after he left his office." Samantha was also absorbing the new information. "How long was the call?"

"Four minutes, give or take," came Danny's immediate response. "Too long for voicemail. I tracked the number and it's registered to a Miss Jennifer Antidormi with an address in Boston's North End."

"Did you try the number the call was made to?" Vivian was also pensive.

"Out of area. But we did go back and pull up Adam's email account. Although we couldn't access the emails themselves – the tech guys are still working on it – there were a number of deleted messages to one J. Antidormi." Danny laughed. "Sounds to me like they've really headed to the hills." He noticed that Jack was still frowning. "What do you reckon, boss? Sordid affair?"

The jocular remark received varied but subtle reactions from everyone else around the table, as they seemed lost in their own thoughts. Danny looked around a little puzzled by the silence his comment had provoked. Jack was the first to speak.

"I think we'd be being premature if we jumped to that conclusion and simply gave up on the investigation."

Martin looked sceptical. For a reason she had yet to put voice to, Samantha prayed he'd keep his opinions to himself, but to no avail.

"Are you sure?" Martin questioned. He looked for a second as if he'd stop there, but instead he took a moment to compose his thoughts and continued. "I mean, it ties in with the emails, the phone call and the plane ticket. Even if it's not an affair, it doesn't suggest that he went anywhere against his will. We all thought it when the call came in. Isn't that why we don't normally take cases like these?"

His tone wasn't accusatory, but the other members of the team found themselves holding their breath waiting for Jack's response. When it came it was with a strange calmness, almost as if the newest agent had never spoken.

"All right. Danny, Martin, I want you in Boston tomorrow morning to check out the recipient of our mystery phone call. You can catch a flight there later tonight. I'll clear it with VanDoren."

"Er, Jack?"

The older agent looked up as Danny had spoken. He raised an eyebrow but his face remained passive. Viv also gave him a questioning glance whilst Samantha became noticeably pre-occupied with her case notes.

Jack was fully aware of the looks he was now receiving from his team, and even more acutely aware of the one who was refusing to look in his direction. If he questioned his motives deeply enough, he would be forced to admit that maybe he wasn't acting particularly fairly or treating this all that rationally. This thought triggered another memory of an earlier conversation that day and he found himself suppressing a smile. To hell with it. He _was_ the boss, and even if there was no proof of any wrong doing, their missing person was still missing. If his agents found him in Boston, great, case closed. So what if they wasted a couple of hundred bucks of federal money on plane tickets in the process? It was wasted on much more frivolous things everyday.

He stopped, waiting for the next person to second guess him but an awkward yet respectful silence had fallen across the group. Samantha looked up slowly and their eyes met for a second. He got the unnerving impression that whatever it was she was seeking out in his face, she had found. Her focus returned to the table.

"Okay then. So tomorrow, Samantha and I will go back to Adam's office and check we haven't missed anything. Vivian can go back and see if Laura Walker knows anything about Jennifer Antidormi, and you two," he nodded in Danny's direction, "will be getting out of the city. Until we can ascertain that Adam Walker is alive and well, this case will remain open." His voice was his usual business-as-normal tenor, but he seemed to be having difficulty making eye contact. "Anything else?"

When no-one spoke, he abruptly pushed his seat away from the table and headed back into the safety of his office.

Danny looked around at his colleagues, hoping to find someone to share a 'what the hell's got into him' moment of amusement with, but no-one seemed willing to oblige. He watched as Viv seemed to be surveying Samantha out of the corner of her eye. The blonde agent in turn looked across at Martin who was now staring at his own notes, his face unusually closed.

Shaking his head a little Danny stood and made his way back to his own desk.

Following suit, Vivian also rose, turning her back on the others to fill in the timeline gaps on the white board behind her.

Alone at the conference table, the remaining two agents finally met each others gaze, but continued to sit in silence.

In his office, Jack watched the scene from his couch. Running his hand through his hair, he suddenly felt exhausted.

**TBC**

**A/N:** Wasn't too sure when I started this story, how far into the whole J/S/M triangle/melodrama I was going to dip, as I was somewhat optimistically, it would seem, hoping that TPTB would have the issue if not resolved, at least raised by the time I got this far! Alas, the whole thing is moving a little slow for my liking and to stay in canon I'm going to have to at least touch on it. So, more J/S angst to come. Hope nobody minds!


	10. Chapter Ten

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". I make no money from this!

**A/N:** Thank you all for the feedback; your comments make me smile! SpyMaster – you know I always enjoy your analysis and am glad you have faith in my missing person! Mariel – I'm honoured to have your trust, I just hope I don't mess it up with this next chapter! Newlands – no pressure at all; I enjoy the challenge. (That sound you hear is just me hyperventilating and the nervous sweat dripping onto my computer!)

Also, I've upped the rating to PG-13 (although I'm still not too sure about this crazy ratings system!), because I used a bad word. Apologies!

**Chapter 10**

**Office of the New York Branch of the FBI, Manhattan.**

**8.05pm**

By the time Jack Malone re-emerged from his office and stepped into the dim glow of the deserted bullpen, the light outside had faded until a shimmering veneer of thin frost was perceptible on the ground below. Distractedly he wandered to the window, absorbing the eerie winter glow that reached over the city. Even at this early evening hour, the bleak weather gave the streets beneath him a desolate quality. The only signs of human life were in the scattered lights of the surrounding office buildings. But, as the night spread out before him, he drew little comfort from this. It had been a while since he stood here in solitude, staring into nothing but the bottom of a scotch glass. In a brief moment of harsh irony, he considered how he'd merely traded one cliché for another. It was misleading, he reflected, the serenity which accompanied such moments as this, moments which occurred only when you accepted that you really had no where else to go. Since his marriage had officially ended, he seemed to have had little use for deliberations of this nature, at least not here. The office was again merely a site of work. He could no longer seek that once familiar refuge which he would always associate with this place. And if the desire for that refuge had not dissipated with time as he had once hoped, he was aware that it was now lost to him. He did his job. He played his role. And, at the end of the day, if he lacked the energy to visit his father, he went home to his empty house. Maybe, if he was lucky, he spoke to his daughters on the telephone, and he waited; waited for something to happen, for the next event that would somehow turn it all around.

When he thought back, there were very few moments in his adult life which replicated this unique feeling that he couldn't quite locate. There'd always been some kind of plan, a next step, a next fix, a resolution. No matter how badly he fucked up, it was what he did. He solved the case. He found the bad guy. He fought for his marriage. He kept his family together. He'd never pretended it was easy. But he'd never really thought it would end. Not the way it did. Not beyond his control. So what happened now? Even in the year after he'd left the army, he'd always known that he would do _something_, eventually. It was a natural progression. There was college, marriage, a Master's degree, a fulfilling job, a family, a promotion. His mind came to a stop. He wasn't going to think about the next thing on that list. In fact, right now, he didn't much want to think about any of the things that came after that.

He turned his attention back to the view before him. A blinking light in the sky caught his eye and he momentarily wondered whether Danny and Martin had caught their flight on time. Maybe he'd call and check in with them later. On second thoughts, he might be better off waiting until tomorrow. Even the normally easy going Danny had been a little bemused by his bosses' insistence they be on a plane tonight when a call to the Boston PD could have sufficed. And then there was the questioning look that Martin gave him as the two young agents had left his office earlier that evening. After Jack's reaction in the meeting, he had kept his mouth shut. But the expression on his face was maybe defiance, or superiority, or… fear?

Fear? Now that was an odd choice of words. What did Martin have to be afraid of? Somewhere along the line, he'd obviously got what _he_ wanted. But whose fault was that? When he allowed himself to think about it logically, it wasn't exactly a mind-altering conclusion. The suspicions had been forming for quite some time. He didn't know where and when, and he damn well didn't want to. But two people – two young, attractive people who develop a healthy relationship through common professional interests; it happens all the time; another natural progression. Maybe it was inevitable? All it takes is for one person to make the right move at the right time. In hindsight, maybe that's where his problems lay? He'd always prided himself on not taking the easy option. But, what if he'd got it backward? What was so noble about doing the _right_ thing when maybe it would have been more courageous to just admit he was wrong?

Or maybe this would have happened anyway? Regardless of choices that were presented, decisions that were made. No matter what he'd said, what he'd done, the eventual outcome would have been the same. Did he really believe that? It made sense. It was possible. But it was bullshit. Even in the midst of his self-pity he couldn't help but smile at the arrogance of it all. What did he think? That she would wait? Indefinitely? That he was worth even more than he had already put her through in the short time that they were actually together? It was laughable. So, why did he still somehow believe it to be true?

But then there was another thought that was nagging at him more; a thought that brought with it a more acute sense of guilt and regret. Why Martin Fitzgerald? This was petty, and he knew it. He'd known it when he'd ignored Martin's comments in front of the team. He'd known it when he'd ordered him onto the plane. And he'd definitely known it as he'd watched the two of them in conference, quite obviously rearranging whatever they had planned for that evening. He knew it, yet at the same time he'd felt a strange sense of relief - because it _was_ Martin, safe, dependable, available Martin. What he offered was open, uncomplicated and reliable. All the things that Samantha thought she should want; all the things that he had been unable to offer. Hell, maybe he was just being selfish, and childish. Maybe Martin really could be the one to make her happy. Shouldn't he want her to be happy? Wasn't he the one who ended things? He made his choice.

So why was there still that voice in his head? Why did it just sound so right? Jack and Samantha. Jack and Sam. They knew each other in ways that he could never imagine knowing anyone else, certainly never Maria. They understood each other. Could Martin ever understand her the way he did? That was how it all started, but how it got this far, he was beginning to think, he would never quite understand. Maybe it _was_ the alcohol talking, this was something else he'd indulged in rarely of late. But deep down he knew there was more to it. Whatever it was that had been between him and Samantha, it was still there, somewhere. It had to be. He'd seen it today, and he knew that she had too. He may have spent the last year pretending that this wasn't the case, but it was a lie – a convenient lie – and he knew it. And that wasn't the scotch.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**9.25pm**

"Jack?"

There it was again.

"Jack?"

"What?"

Pushing himself upright, Jack blinked and ineffectually smoothed his creased shirt. When his vision focused he found himself at eye level with a familiar sight. Shaking his head, he rubbed his hands over his face tiredly.

"Well, I'm not sure this is the best idea."

"Huh?"

He looked up to see the empty glass now dangling between Samantha's fingers as she hovered in front of his couch.

"Something about federal employees drinking on government property… People get kind of funny about it…"

He cringed guiltily.

"Does it count if I only had one glass?"

She laughed.

"I think they'd still prefer you to sleep it off at home."

He smiled back.

Sam looked at the man before her. He looked tired and lost… and defeated. She'd seen him this way in the past – over a case, over his marriage, over _them_? But seeing him like this, now, stirred within her a range of emotions that she was only beginning to comprehend. It would have been easy to put it down to pity; just another guy who lost his family to his job and another fatal flaw. She'd had enough time in therapy to rationalise her own role in this. She hadn't let her conscience play too large a part at the time, but what she'd said to Maria at that unfortunate Christmas encounter had been sincere. So here she was, enjoying a new relationship right in front of this man who seemed to have lost everything he'd clung to for so long; the very things that he had chosen over her. Shouldn't a small part of her feel superior? All things said and done, she'd moved on. So, why didn't she?

"I must look pretty pathetic, huh?" Jack's voice snapped her back to reality. "The guy who still passes out in his office, because he can't bring himself to go home."

"Jack." The resignation in his voice caused something inside her to twinge.

"Nah, it's okay you can say it. Just like old times, right?"

He felt her recoil at the bitterness which had slipped unconsciously into his voice and forced an edge of humour into his tone. "And I'm not drunk, you know."

"I know."

He watched her. Her expression was guarded and as he'd spoken she'd pulled her coat tightly around her body. For once, he thought, why couldn't he just do the right thing toward her? He couldn't exactly blame her for feeling uncomfortable in this situation. He wasn't making it any easier for her. An irrational wave of anger passed through him, as he wondered if she _felt sorry_ for him. Self-pity was bad enough, but he couldn't take it from her. Not after everything that he'd done. But that wasn't quite it. Like other things, anger was also a convenient feeling. It was better than the alternative. Better than… Oh, this was ridiculous. Why couldn't he just let it go? Let her go? Why was it so hard to be the good guy? But then as he heard the next words falling from his lips, that question seemed irrelevant.

"So, what are you doing back here at this hour? I thought you'd left for the night. Surely you have something more exciting to be doing?"

Samantha eyed him warily. "I gave the guys a ride to the airport and thought I may as well grab some paperwork to take home with me. I saw your light on."

"Okay." He paused. "I just wouldn't want to think I'd ruined your evening."

"And why would you think that?" Her voice had gone from wary, to oddly detached.

"Oh, I don't know. I just thought maybe you had plans this evening."

Samantha's tone was calm but there was a dangerous undercurrent belying her words. "Jack, if you have something to say to me, I think we know each other well enough for you to just come out and say it."

A belligerent expression was pasted on Jack's face and he seemed unable to remove it. "It's none of my business."

Samantha sucked in a long breath as if considering all the possible responses his remark could elicit. A myriad of buried feelings were bubbling beneath her icy exterior and for a moment it seemed they might detonate. Then, maybe out of frustration, or simply a reaction to the convergence of so many conflicting emotions, she began to laugh. Echoing the guffaws of earlier that day that had followed her somewhat Freudian slip at the law firm, she caught Jack's eye and all tension dissipated. The relief was contagious and Jack too found himself gulping for air.

When they'd regained some semblance of normal control, Sam looked up. "You realise how stupid this is, right?"

His reply was barely audible. "Yeah."

"I don't owe you an explanation."

Jack nodded, but the melancholy undertone beneath Sam's next words caused his chest to constrict.

"So why do I feel like I do?"

The sheer force of the shared guilt in this confession, brought to Jack a new level of shame.

There truly was no response to that.

Sam shrugged hesitantly and a silent complicity was reached. She looked at the piles of case notes that lay scattered across Jack's desk.

"Looks like we both had the same idea. Care to share your theories?" She kept her tone purposefully light. "I know there's _another_ reason you sent the guys to Boston."

Jack tilted his head, unsure whether to dare a smirk. "I'll admit that wasn't my finest moment."

She shrugged again, but a trace of humour danced across her lips. "It's your prerogative."

He watched her for a moment, attempting to ascertain any insinuation behind her response, but she remained stoic.

Jack rubbed his hands over his eyes, letting out a quiet, but involuntary, groan in the process. Sam's look took on a hint of worry. Repeating, more succinctly, Jack's words from the car, she asked softly, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Contemplating the unspoken, and unwarranted, truce that she had offered him, he considered his options. The fact that she was even still in the room with him was much more than he deserved and he was suddenly terrified of upsetting this fragile balance. For all his cynicism, since the moment he'd met Samantha Spade, a part of him had always believed that there would be a time for the two of them, and he just wasn't ready to be proved wrong. But she _was_ still here. And he wasn't ready for her to leave.

"I know today's been frustrating," she prompted.

He looked up in surprise.

"The case," she clarified, raising an eyebrow. "This case is frustrating."

This time _he_ shrugged, raising a hand to his head in that familiar gesture.

"It's just… I know everything about this points to a guy going through a mid-life crisis, who, instead of buying a Porsche, or a yacht, or whatever these people do, just found another way to escape his life."

Sam nodded. "Steve Mitchell said as much. It definitely sounds like Adam was sick of playing by the rules." She glanced over at Jack. "I'm sensing there's a _but_."

"I don't know."

Once again Sam found herself shocked by just how drained Jack appeared, how helpless. She smiled encouragingly.

"You're thinking something."

Again he paused, but this time the words seemed to flow out of him.

"I'm not sure. But then I was looking over all these notes." He indicated his desk. "And I was thinking about that photograph in Adam's office, and what his secretary said, and what all his colleagues said. Then there was what Viv said about his wife and their home and his relationship with his kid, and…"

"… And you just don't want to believe that all marriages end this way."

Once again their eyes met, but this time neither of them could bring themselves to look away.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Jack."

He forced himself to maintain the contact, but his voice fell to a mumble.

"Well, there aren't many things I'm _proud_ of these days."

Despite everything she intellectualised that she should be feeling, Sam felt a tangible grief for the figure before her.

"Are you sure you're okay, Jack?"

The concern in her voice was palpable, and the unexpected lump in his throat forced him to avert his eyes to the ground. His subconscious mind was urging him to let go, and just spill forth all the thoughts that had jumbled in his mind as he'd stood at that window little over an hour ago. After all this time, he still held to the notion that she was the one who could take his pain away. However, with the memory of his lunchtime revelation still fresh in his mind, he quelled his rising emotions. He could only allow his selfishness to go so far. It might be too late to undo so much of the damage which he had caused as far as Sam was concerned, but there was no excuse for inflicting fresh wounds. He was no longer her burden – assuming, that is, that he ever was.

When no response was forthcoming, Samantha sighed. The instinct to lean over, even to lay a hand on his shoulder, just to show him that there was someone to reach out to him, was overwhelming. But again, things had shifted on her. She'd been telling herself for a while, that Jack must at least have his suspicions about her new situation, but a part of her was refusing to listen. It was as if a part of her still clung to those tender, private moments, those comforting touches that this man would still occasionally proffer in her direction. The instinctive nature of such gestures and her innate response to them gave these memories a perverse purity which held more power than she could admit. But with this new acknowledgement between the two of them, she was forced to confront the nagging doubt that had been with her since that fateful taxi ride. For the first time in either relationship, Samantha felt like a cheat.

Pushing aside the new, and somewhat alarming, realisation, she forced herself to regain composure. The success of her efforts surprised her.

"I still worry about you, you know."

Jack took a deep breath before raising his eyes to meet hers.

"I know." He moved as if to draw closer to her, before thinking better of it. Instead he simply held her gaze. "I know I've said this before, but I _am_ sorry."

Her face was still neutral, but there was a glimmer of amusement breaking through. "Let's just add this one to the list, okay? For both of us." She laughed softly as she moved toward the door. "It's not like I haven't developed a talent for saying the wrong thing around you, today."

There was a longer pause but when his response came, it was hesitant yet painfully disarming. "Actually, sometimes I think you're still the only one who can say the _right_ thing." He caught her eye and the gentleness of his expression caused her to inhale. Feeling the need, for both their sakes, to break the moment, Jack let out a slight chuckle. However, his tone was still soft and full of emotion. "I'm not going to say that I hope you two will be very happy together."

She eyed him closely as her voice dropped to a whisper. "I'd be disappointed if you did." She smiled wistfully.

"Good night, Jack."

"Night, Sam."

**TBC**

**A/N:** Hmm. Think we can write at least the first part of this chapter off as an experiment that may or may not happen again! This is new territory and I fear I am treading on the wrong side of that fine line between angst and total b.s., with a quick foray into cliché! I'm not entirely sure where bitter, self-pitying, drinking Jack came from, but I'm guessing the quantities of red wine consumed during the writing process didn't help – sorry!

**A/N (cont.):** I've also now had to go back and re-do parts of this as, since finishing it, I've just read chapter 3 of Dayliobserver's wonderful fic "Gone" and there were a few too many similarities for my liking. I'm aware that some still remain but they're the ones that I set up in the first couple of chapters and I didn't know how else to approach it without completely re-writing. I just hope my take on the situation is different enough so you don't take offence.


	11. Chapter Eleven

_**Disclaimer:** _I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". I make no money from this!

**A/N:** Apologies for the longer than usual posting delay! For those of you who don't frequent Maple Street, and/or didn't see my post, I'm on jury duty at the moment and it's seriously eating into my time! I'm doing my best to keep up with this, so please be patient and I'll hopefully get more to you soon. Many, many, many thanks to SpyMaster for some much needed input into this chapter – if not for her help it would still be languishing in pieces on my hard drive! C.O. ;)

**Chapter Eleven**

**Thursday 27th January. 9.13am (62 hours missing)**

**Boston's North End**

Danny and Martin waited impatiently in front of the bright blue door of Jennifer Antidormi's well-kept red brick three storey townhouse. Although it was both early and exceedingly cold, a gathering of older residents, talking at each other in a mixture of rapid Italian and accented English, littered the narrow street. Battered chairs adorned the sidewalk outside many of the properties, and it was easy to imagine a hot summer's day where the street would be lined with residents filling the empty seats with idle chatter as they watched the world pass by.

"Wanna grab a pizza after we're done here?" Danny asked Martin, a sly grin on his face. Just because they had been exiled to a different state to spend a freezing morning chasing up a potentially futile lead, didn't mean he couldn't enjoy taking a dig at his stony-faced partner – even if the subject of eating habits was normally a little too easy for his liking.

"I'm not even going to respond to that," Martin replied, breaking out of his obvious funk for a moment and giving Danny a sarcastic glare. Danny just laughed.

Hoping to avoid another wisecrack from his colleague, and wishing that he was doing a better job of brightening his own mood, Martin started looking around at the nearby buildings. Adjacent to the corner property before which they now stood, was a trendy Italian eatery with a minimalist façade and a pricy menu displayed by its door. Across the street, however, was home to a more traditional restaurant proudly displaying the colours and accoutrements of its native land. Clearly the place Danny had been referring to with his 'pizza' remark. It was clear that despite the presence of new blood in this neighbourhood, the community roots were still strong. Martin, in his dark suit and tense posture, couldn't help but feel out of place, and from Danny's demeanour it was clear that he felt the same way.

When the door opened hesitantly, both agents instinctively raised their badges. The woman staring back at them was tall and striking. Her olive skin was off set by dark eyes and even darker hair tinted with auburn highlights. She was dressed in worn jeans which hugged her impressive figure, and a loose knit dark green sweater sporting a plummeting neckline. Both men took an involuntary moment as they assessed the sight in front of them. When Danny spoke, she watched him curiously.

"Jennifer Antidormi? I'm Agent Taylor and this is Agent Fitzgerald. We're with the Missing Persons unit of the FBI, New York Field Office. We'd like to come in and talk to you."

Checking their badges once more, the woman sighed before opening the door fully and ushering them inside.

"Well," she said in an educated East coast accent, "I have no idea why you need to talk with me, but be my guest."

Martin and Danny followed her down a well lit hallway, their footsteps echoing on the polished hardwood boards. The walls were painted a deep red which reflected the light from above onto the floor, creating a warm glow despite the exterior temperature. Hanging intermittently along the hall, in untreated wooden frames, were canvasses of varying sizes and shapes, displaying an unusual but impressive collection of what was probably fairly pricy modern art.

Martin's mind flashed to how much his father would have hated them and he found himself remembering back to when he'd been a student. His dorm walls had been covered with modern paintings ranging from the moderately good to the truly awful. Naturally, of course, the paintings had been hanging in between posters of whatever band or artist his father particularly hated at the time. That _rebel _stage had lasted just less than a year; serving only to strain further whatever brittle relationship he had with his father to begin with. Looking at the paintings, as he followed his partner down the corridor, Martin tried to identify the artist - hoping that the period of his life, which he was less than proud of, would serve some purpose. Unfortunately, he didn't recognise the work and, to his growing frustration, couldn't even liken it to an artist or movement.

At the end of the hallway was an open kitchen containing primarily a large pine table, on which lay a variety of objects and implements pertaining little to any form of cookery. The large window behind it was lined with overgrown plants and a large colourful bowl containing what looked to be dog food. In front of the window, in the lightest part of the room, stood a large easel on which hung a life-size charcoal image of a nude female figure. The charcoal sticks lay scattered across the ceramic floor beneath and some of it was smeared lightly up the wall behind. Set against the backdrop of splashes of deep colours and textured fabrics adorning the entire room, it felt as if someone had accidentally left their stove and sink in an art studio.

"I'm Jennifer," the woman stated simply as she pulled two chairs from under the buried table and indicated for the agents to sit. "Now, what can I do for you?"

Martin took the lead. Meeting Jennifer's dark eyes, his tone and expression were professional.

"Do you know an Adam Walker?"

At the mention of the name, Jennifer's manner changed, as her casual composure gave way to a measured panic.

"Oh, God," she gasped. "Has something happened to Adam?"

Danny immediately stepped in to calm Jennifer down. Martin hadn't exactly been a ray of sunshine since they had been given this assignment and his current icy interrogation mood clearly wasn't going to cut it this morning. He flashed the woman a warm smile and made firm eye contact, quickly reassuring her.

When Martin saw that Danny had set Jennifer back at ease, he continued, attempting to infuse a fraction more warmth into his tone.

"That's what we're trying to find out. Adam hasn't been seen since he was picked up on a security camera leaving his office on Monday evening."

After a beat, Danny picked up the story, he was still smiling but there was a distinct undercurrent of scepticism in his voice.

"We know he called you at around eight pm on Monday night, and that he'd purchased an air ticket from JFK to Logan, also for Monday night. His computer log shows that he has been in contact with you by email, regularly, for quite some time. We were thinking that he may have been headed here, or that you may have an idea of some place else he could be. As you can imagine, his wife and son are pretty worried."

Jennifer's eyes remained glued on the two men before her. Pushing her hair off her face, she took a calming breath. Her expression was unreadable.

Martin cut to the chase. "Look, Miss Antidormi…"

She stopped him civilly. "If we're going to do this, just call me Jenn, okay?"

"Okay," Martin continued, unperturbed, "Jenn. Mrs Walker, Adam's wife…"

"Laura," she again interjected.

This time, Martin ignored the interruption, catching a glimpse of his colleague out of the corner of his eye.

Danny shifted in his seat. Although not the one being interrupted, he was clearly starting to get irritated. He thought briefly about butting in before deciding against it. Martin appeared to have it under control, and the way he'd been acting since Sam had driven them to the airport the previous evening, it seemed best just to play along.

"Mrs Walker reported her husband missing on Monday night. Now, we normally wouldn't be called in on cases such as this, as there's no evidence, at the moment, that Adam has been forced to go anywhere he didn't want to go, or do anything he didn't want to do. But we've come all the way from New York, so if Adam's here, it's really none of our business why, just so long as no crime has been committed. Telling us the truth would probably be a very good idea right about now."

Jenn paused, taking in the information that had just been presented to her. Her face was torn between wry disbelief, and what appeared to be genuine concern. Her tone suggested a well practised level of frustration.

"I didn't speak to Adam on Monday night."

Scepticism seeped back into Martin's voice, and using facts, like the white collar guy he'd been trained to be, he refuted her account. "Unfortunately, Adam's phone records disagree with that statement."

The woman acted like she'd barely heard him.

"Wait a minute." She laughed harshly. "You think that Adam and I are having some sordid affair?"

Danny raised his eyebrows in Martin's direction, before moving his attention back to Jenn. Now it was his turn.

"Well, if you're not, it might help both you and Adam to tell us how the two of you are _acquainted_, and why he's been contacting you pretty much every day for the last two months."

Again seeming to ignore the agent's commentary, she instead regarded both of them accusingly.

"Have you mentioned any of this to Laura?"

Martin kept his voice even. "No. Should we have done?"

Once more, Jenn laughed. "Well, it might've saved you a field trip."

The agents waited, deciding it might be prudent to just see how this would play out. She soon complied.

"I thought the Feds were trained to be observant?" She encouraged them to take in their surroundings, her gaze lingering on a jumble of framed photographs scattered across the counter and the table at which they were sitting. "You may want to take another look around."

At this, Martin and Danny both took a second visual sweep of the room, their glances falling inevitably on the indicated display.

Centre stage amongst the memorabilia, smiling back at them was a large image of Adam, Laura and David Walker. The happy family was flanked on either side by two women, sporting equally joyous expressions. One, standing next to Laura, with her arm around her, was very obviously Jennifer. On the other side, next to Adam, was another striking woman, a head shorter than Jenn with lighter hair, but possibly of African descent – one cheerful extended family portrait.

Pretty much all the other photos, aside from a series of elementary school photos documenting David's education thus far, contained images of Jenn and this other woman. In several they were in a studio of some sort, and there was a framed newspaper clipping showing the pair of them smiling into the camera at the opening of a down town gallery.

The cogs clearly turning, both men looked back at the same time. As they did, they were met with a knowing, but genuine smile.

"As you can probably imagine, Adam and I were not, or ever have been, sleeping together."

Reassessing the situation, Martin was still thinking.

"That doesn't change the fact that Adam called you on Monday night. How do you explain that?"

Jenn paused, caught in her own thoughts.

"I told you, he never called. If he had, I'd tell you. I was home on Monday night. Abbey, my partner," she elaborated, "is on a retreat up North. She goes there a couple of times a year, it's an artist thing, I never ask for too many details. So I stayed home to grade some papers." Seeing their curious looks, she explained, "I'm a professor, English Lit, at our alma mata… Harvard," she added. "That's how I met Adam and Laura."

Realising that this could be a useful line of questioning, Martin made a mental note of the information. However, their initial query was still unanswered, and it was not something that either he or Danny were going to let slide.

"The phone call," he prompted once more. "Adam called your cell. He talked for over four minutes. He obviously got through to someone."

"Oh," Jenn's expression changed again. "Abbey. She has my cell, in case of an emergency. Hers died on her last week and there wasn't time to replace it before she went away. It just seemed easier for her to take mine, as I rarely remember to switch the damn thing on anyway. It's not like she'll even get service out there but she knew it'd make me feel better if she took it. I can be kind of stubborn that way."

For the first time, she shared a genuine smile aimed mostly at Danny. But her expression soon became earnest.

"If Abbey had spoken to Adam and had any reason to be concerned, there's no way she wouldn't have called me. She adores that whole family. She's known them almost as long as I have. Oh God, I knew we should keep that phone switched on more often, we just…"

She tailed off. Now even Martin eyed her compassionately. Despite her carefully constructed, self-possessed persona, and the sharp, confident energy she exuded, there was an underlying fragility in the obvious concern she held for those about whom she genuinely cared. Martin couldn't help but be reminded of someone else he knew. Temporarily pushing a flurry of unbidden and unwanted thoughts out his mind, he smiled awkwardly.

Misinterpreting his discomfort, Jenn sighed, before speaking wearily. "I know you can't just take my word on it, and you need to check me over, that's fine. This won't be the first time I've had strangers prying into my personal life." She wrapped her arms around her waist as she continued. "Just so long as you find Adam, I'll do everything I can to help." The tempo of her words was increasing with every breath as she was becoming visibly distressed. "If it helps I can show you the broken cell, or you can call my number, although I can't guarantee Abbey will answer…"

Danny worriedly attempted to halt the momentum. Trying to catch her eye, he nodded.

"We'll do that, thanks." Trying to regain control of the conversation, he found himself slowing down his own speech. "So, if Adam wasn't coming to Boston just to pay you a visit, do you have any idea how he came to be on a plane on Monday night, without even mentioning it to his wife?"

At that comment, oblivious to the question that had been posed, Jenn launched out of her seat.

"Oh, shit. I should call Laura."

Martin and Danny exchanged equally frustrated glances as their witness bolted from the room.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Well, it looks like we might've been off base about the affair." Danny shrugged with some humour.

Martin nodded slowly but didn't quite look convinced. After a moment, he thought aloud.

"Just because he's not sleeping with _this_ woman, doesn't mean there isn't someone else in Boston who was worth paying a secret visit to. I mean, we know he was on that plane, the passenger log confirmed it. Why else would someone lie to their spouse and leave town?"

Danny could sense an even deeper underlying agitation growing in his colleague, but thought it best to refrain from comment. His co-worker's private lives were their own business. After all, he chose not to share too much of his personal life with them. He may be privy to a couple of snippets of information, and if certain subjects were broached, it was acceptable to conduct an amount of good natured teasing. However, he had little desire to get caught up in something that, he was fairly certain, could not end well for all parties. Keeping his tone neutral, he looked over at Martin.

"To be fair, he didn't exactly lie."

Martin's voice now carried a clear undertone. "Well, he didn't exactly tell the truth, either."

Yeah, this conversation was definitely not something that needed to happen at this particular moment. Danny shook his head wryly as he suddenly grasped the reason behind his unusual frustration with his boss the previous evening. Yesterday afternoon he'd been wondering what the hell was going on with Jack, but since the journey to JFK it had become fairly obvious that it wasn't just Jack that things were going on with. There were some things that he'd been casually ignoring for over three years, but for the first time, Danny realised, personal matters were beginning to affect the actions of the team. It wasn't so much a matter of blame, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that something, or someone had to give - before this whole thing turned into a damn soap opera. Finding a sudden desire to get through this current case as quickly as possible, he turned back to his colleague. Holding up his hands, he attempted to ease the tension that now seemed to be growing between the two of them.

"Well, we're here now. And, no matter what we assume might've happened, Jack wants us to find out what Adam Walker was doing in Boston on Monday night. We've thought the worst of people before," he looked up pointedly, "and been wrong. So, let's just do our job and get the hell back to New York." Grinning, he added, "And if the best way to do that is to find the guy having a weeks holiday reminiscing with former college buddies, then good for him. Let's wait and see what else we can get from his other old friend here, and take it from there, okay?"

Martin nodded compliantly, a little embarrassed that Danny had seen through his professional façade so easily. He knew, obviously, that Danny was aware of his new relationship with Samantha – a consequence of the first time they, or maybe he, had failed to exercise the discretion she had been so insistent on since that first morning he woke up in her bed. Although Danny had never initiated a conversation about what was in fact happening, and most probably never would, Martin was surprised at just how easily he had accepted the knowledge – like it was an everyday occurrence to find your co-workers enjoying a private moment at work. But then maybe, as far as Danny was concerned, it was.

When Martin had first confronted Samantha about his awareness of her relationship with Jack – even now, the mention of their names together caused a tightening in his chest – she had stated simply that she had no idea whether Danny knew. Although Martin had successfully lost his initial rookie status and earned, at least he hoped this were true, the respect and trust of the team, it was times like this when he really needed someone he could talk to. Danny _was_ his friend; he had no doubt about that. However, he had begun to believe that maybe there would never be a good time to talk about this. Danny may or may not know what had occurred between Sam and Jack, in which case it would be difficult confiding in him anyway. There was just nobody else he could talk to. While he was quite skilled at keeping his own counsel, there were times, and this was one of them, when the pressure of it all just felt too much to bear alone. Sam may be used to hiding relationships, but he sure as hell wasn't. Although he realised, in part, the necessity of this, at least to begin with, the seeds of doubt which had been growing with a vengeance since yesterday, had been present in his mind for quite some time. In fact, he could put a specific time on it, the day that Jack Malone's name plate went back to the spot that they all knew it belonged.

Yet, until yesterday, they had been controllable. It had been months now, and nothing had been said between himself and Samantha that would suggest this man's renewed presence would have any effect on what occurred between the two of them. He'd been steadily ignoring it, but he was growing more certain by the day, that it was the things which _weren't_ being said, that were causing his doubts. Despite his upbringing, or maybe, in part, because of it, Martin was surprisingly in-adept at disguising his emotions. And no matter how loyally Sam laughed at his jokes, and how conveniently they had slotted into each others lives, there were times when he felt that she wasn't quite there; that she wasn't quite real. He had speculated a few times about this feeling and why he felt it. Eventually, he'd come to the conclusion that Sam had some unfinished business with Jack. On good days, or perhaps when the two of them were alone, this insight favoured the optimistic voice in his head – telling him that one day this would no longer be the case. However, at times like this, which seemed to be occurring with increasing regularity, he tried desperately, but often unsuccessfully not to view it in a slightly different light. She'd said it herself – feelings faded, not died, like deep down he knew they should. No matter what she said about there being room for new ones, he got the distinct foreboding that this wasn't quite so simple. While there were still remnants of feelings left, nobody could move on, and this didn't do anybody any good.

The rush of feelings he'd encountered yesterday, the amount of futility he'd felt, was not something he could easily verbalize. He'd felt frustrated at work before, but always over cases, and professional clashes. This, he supposed, was why co-workers should remain merely that. However, when he allowed himself to dwell on it, it was perversely, the lack of infringement that his personal life imposed on his work, that was the cause of his uncertainty. If an outsider were to notice any sexual tension in _their_ workplace, he was growing steadily more certain that it would be in no way related to him.

His mind drifted back to the Christmas party just over a month ago and his conversation with Samantha. It was fairly easy to recall. For all the time that the two of them had spent together of late, he suddenly realised, this was maybe the only real conversation that had taken place about what was happening between them. And it was certainly the only one that had been initiated by Sam. Aside from the logistical implications their _relationship_ involved, there seemed to be an ingrained, and by no means unintentional, embargo on all matters relating to the direction in which any of this might be headed. He'd thus far purposefully avoided any mention of what might happen should they actually tell people they were _together_, whatever that meant. But he had a sneaking suspicion that this would become yet another subject _not_ to talk about, and the darker side of his subconscious was in little doubt of why.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

When Jennifer Antidormi returned to the kitchen, her earlier composure had returned. The only signal of distress was a telltale streak of mascara in the corner of her right eye. Both agents instinctively believed that the woman had no definitive information on Adam Walker's current whereabouts. But seeing as they were here, there was no harm in gathering a little more pertinent background information on their missing person. It wasn't as if they had anything else to go on.

Danny, once again, offered her a reassuring smile before launching onto what he hoped would be a less stressful subject.

"So, you've known the Walkers since college?" It was a perfunctory question, but seeing as Martin seemed incapable of relaxing today, someone had to make the small talk. He pointed to the photographs. "It seems you guys spend a lot of time together."

His easy manner seemed to be taking effect and Jennifer visibly relaxed again.

"Yeah, when we get the chance that is." She smiled. "What with my teaching and Abbey's commitment to her work, we don't get a lot of time to make it out to New York. And, of course, what with both of their careers, and juggling any free time they have to spend with David, we've got pretty used to email and the occasional weekend here and there – the usual story, you know?"

Danny nodded. "And you hadn't noticed anything _off_ about Adam's behaviour the last time you heard from him? Was he worried about anything? His job? Maybe he and Laura were having problems?"

Jennifer took a moment to consider, but shook her head.

"No. Nothing. He never really talks about work. It's just something that pays the bills. Although, now you mention it, he did say something about a new case he was involved in. But, he seemed happy about it, like he was doing something that mattered to him. He's seemed pretty exhausted the last few months, which isn't like Adam at all, so I figured he must be working pretty hard at something."

Danny nodded again – so Adam had been talking about the lawsuit.

This time Martin addressed a question in her direction.

"And there was no indication that their marriage was under any particular stress?"

Jennifer, again, looked mildly frustrated by this line of questioning, but her response was patient.

"I know you can never really tell what's going on in someone else's relationship." She paused. "Hell, it's tough enough sometimes just trying to figure out what's going on in your own." Not for the first time, she felt the curious stare of her interrogator upon her. "But, as far as I could tell, they were really happy. I know you've talked to Laura about this already," she threw in.

Martin held her gaze. "Yes, we have. It's just useful for us to hear it from another perspective."

"Okay," Jenn shrugged, "I'm not trying to be difficult. It's just that you're in here talking to me, when I think you'd be better off out there actually looking for him."

"We understand that," Danny interjected. "But in order for us to do that, we need to know as much as we can about Adam's life – and that's something _you_ can help us with."

"Fine. But I don't know how much use any of this will be." She sighed. "They're just a normal family. They get busy and stressed, like we all do – and God knows, how they both manage to be such great parents at the same time. I know I'm still not ready for that." She smiled again. "Yeah, they fight sometimes, but never anything major. And if anything did happen between them, I know at least one of them would come to me about it sooner or later; they always have."

Martin looked perplexed. "So, there've been no family problems?"

"If you're still asking me whether Adam's screwing someone in Boston, I think we covered that earlier." Jenn's tone again held more than a shade of annoyance. "And David's a good kid. He can act out sometimes, and I'm no expert, but I figure that's what kids do. Adam can be a bit overprotective, but it's only natural. His own father had some… problems, and wasn't around much when he was growing up, so he just wants to be there for his own son. I mean, we all have our issues, don't we? But Adam was over all that in college. He wouldn't just run off. I know him. He wouldn't be able to live with himself."

Giving Jennifer another moment to gather her thoughts, Martin flicked back to the notes from his interview with Laura. He quickly found what he was looking for.

"So, Adam's mother died when he was in college, and they moved to New York to be near Laura's parents."

"Laura's mom," the woman corrected. "Laura's dad died a couple of years earlier, and her mom didn't handle it too well. She passed away about five years ago, but I don't think she ever really got over it. I don't know all the details but I think she got pretty depressed for a while. I remember Laura saying that she was barely leaving the house. They were both really worried, and seeing as Adam didn't have any family left in Boston, it just seemed like the only thing they could do. Adam was just as upset as Laura. It really got to him. He was willing to give up everything else in his life for her." She shook her head, smiling softly at the recollection, before meeting Martin's eyes. "I guess that's when we all realised it was true love."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**Boston's North End**

**10.36am**

After establishing that Jennifer Antidormi really had no more information for them, the agents were at a stand still. It was true that Adam Walker had arrived in Boston, but there was no saying that he was even still there. There was still no hard evidence of anything untoward and, if no new leads came in soon, they were basically out of options.

Danny was leaning idly against the wall of the nearby pizzeria when his cell phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, he was almost grateful that his colleague was inside and out of earshot.

"Hey, Jack. What's up? Did you get my message…… Yeah…… No, she's definitely not our mistress…… Yeah, we left our contact details in case Adam gets in touch, or she thinks of something else but……"

The agent's expression suddenly became more curious, as his update was interrupted. He listened intently, occasionally nodding into the phone. As his boss was talking he grabbed the pen and paper out of his coat, jotting down an address.

"Well, that's weird." He shrugged as he wrote.

He listened again before stuffing the notebook back in his pocket.

"Yeah, sure. We'll get right on it."

Ending the call, he headed toward the restaurant in search of Martin.

**TBC**


	12. Chapter Twelve

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". I make no money from this!

**A/N:** Okay, I know the last chapter was a tad stale and generally pretty horrible – the only parts I liked were the ones that SpyMaster re-wrote for me! I managed to churn this out at the weekend too, so I hope it makes up for it a little:( C.O.

**Chapter Twelve**

**Thursday 27th January. 8.44am**

**Office of the New York Branch of the FBI, Manhattan**

Still wearing her long black overcoat, Samantha made a beeline for the coffee pot. Although it hadn't been particularly late when she'd left the office the previous evening, for whatever reason once home, sleep had been difficult to find. She'd tried telling herself the reason for this was simply that recently she had become unaccustomed to sleeping alone. However, a little voice in the back of her mind seemed to have different ideas. As she gratefully poured a mug full of the dark liquid, she couldn't help but steal a quick glance in the direction of Jack's office. Somewhat apprehensively, she noted that he was already sitting behind his desk. From this distance it was impossible to tell whether he had in fact been home. Knowing that Viv was already en route to the Walker's residence, and it would be just the two of them in the office all morning, she took a deep breath and headed in the familiar direction.

As she hovered in the doorway, she was relieved to see that Jack was attired in a fresh shirt and a neatly pressed suit – a sign that he had not spent the night. He too looked a little tired, but the focus and intensity which had been lacking twelve hours earlier, had clearly returned. She watched him still scouring the case notes, quietly fighting the surprising wave of affection that washed over her.

Feeling her presence close-by, he raised his head.

"Hey," he offered softly.

"Hey," she returned the greeting. "Anything new?"

"Not yet," he sighed. "If we don't come up with something today, I'm not sure how long I can justify keeping this open. I don't know, maybe he did just leave."

"Jack." Sam felt the need to say _something_. She just wasn't too sure what. Although his instincts were usually pretty good, she got the distinct feeling that parts of this case were striking a hidden chord with him. She would never pretend to understand the emotional complexities of Jack's marriage, and the aftermath of its inevitable self-destruction. She did, however, understand him. She knew it; and she knew that he knew it. He may never talk about it with her directly, but the guilt and helplessness he felt over the loss of his family were laid bare in his eyes. He was desperate to believe that he could somehow set things right. And if reuniting Adam Walker with his wife and son was the way to do that, she didn't want to be the one to prove him otherwise.

Jack looked up expectantly at the sound of his name on her lips. She looked unusually unsure of herself and he couldn't help but feel responsible. Why couldn't he have just kept his mouth shut? So, he found out she had someone new in her life; that she'd moved on. The news wasn't exactly shocking. He'd acted like a lovesick, jealous ex-boyfriend. All right, so he wasn't about to go up and shake Martin's hand, that wasn't exactly his style. But in the harsh light of day those chaste evasive moments that the two of them had become accustomed to sharing, only served to add a new air of ambiguity to their already complicated past.

Samantha opened her mouth to continue, but was interrupted by the internal telecom on Jack's desk. As he picked up the receiver, he lifted a finger indicating that she should stay. Lowering herself on to the chair opposite she complied. She sipped her coffee as Jack mumbled curtly into the phone.

"Okay… Sure… Send her up."

As he hung up, Sam eyed him curiously.

"Who was that?"

"The front desk," he answered evenly. "Melissa Thomas is downstairs. She says she wants to talk to us about something."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

As the elevator doors slid open to reveal Adam Walker's secretary, both agents found themselves startled by the sight of the young woman. Her red hair, although still pinned back, stuck out at odd angles and she seemed completely drained of energy. As she neared the pair she attempted a small smile, but her bottom lip quivered and she instead drew in a deep breath.

Unsure, having effectively ruled out any work related cause behind her bosses' disappearance, exactly what new information she was here to impart, they escorted her to the nearest conference room. Once inside, Melissa seemed to re-group and she looked squarely at the agents before her.

"I suppose you're wondering why I'm here."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**9.02am**

"So you actually heard Adam making the call?" Jack enquired briskly.

"Yes," Melissa stated firmly, repeating her story. "I was on my way into work when I recognised Adam's voice. I didn't mean to overhear, but I couldn't help catch bits of it. I was walking right by."

"And this was definitely from a payphone, not his cell?" Sam confirmed.

Melissa nodded. "Yes, on Monday morning sometime before nine, like I said."

"Which payphone?" Samantha was once again scribbling in her note book.

"The one outside the office," the secretary stated. "It's the only one in about three blocks that ever seems to be working. There's always someone using it."

"And you didn't think to tell us this piece of information yesterday?" Jack's tone was harsher than he had intended.

Melissa paused, fumbling for an explanation. When she looked back up, she seemed to be addressing herself to Samantha.

Noticing this shift, Sam smiled comfortingly. "It's okay Melissa, you're not in trouble, and we'll do our best to keep anything you tell us confidential."

Mollified by the vague reassurance, Melissa took another deep breath.

"It's just… When I first realised it was Adam, I heard him saying something about an appointment. He sounded really odd, almost desperate, like he was begging. I'd never heard him sound that way before, it scared me."

"So, you don't know who he was talking to?" Sam was still regarding her with some empathy.

"No. At first I thought it must be a work thing, you know? Something to do with the lawsuit that he didn't want the Partners to find out about." She guiltily relocated her gaze to Jack. "I guess that's why I didn't tell you yesterday. I figured if his going missing had anything to do with the firm you'd find out and…"

"You wouldn't get Adam into any more trouble." Jack completed her sentence.

Melissa nodded. "But then I kept thinking about it – all night actually." This time she managed a tired smile. "I just couldn't get it out of my head. And I started to think, maybe it wasn't work, maybe it was something else."

"Like what?" He was becoming increasingly insistent. Not wanting to undermine Jack, but fearing the young woman would withdraw without further comment, Samantha stepped in once more.

"Well, do you think he could be in debt, or maybe someone's attempting to extort him?"

The secretary shook her head. "No. Adam would never get mixed up in anything like that."

Having confirmed her suspicion that the young woman's feelings for her boss stretched beyond a professional capacity, Sam was torn between compassion, scepticism and frustration.

"But you obviously thought that something was wrong?"

"I really don't know." Melissa shrugged helplessly. "I just thought I should tell you."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**10.05am**

Now seated at the conference table in the bullpen, the two agents faced the laborious task of searching the call log from the payphone Melissa had mentioned. They'd narrowed their search down to a thirty minute time slot, but as the secretary had said, the phone was often in use, and despite mobile technology, an inordinate amount of calls still seemed to have been made from it. The task was made no easier by having little idea who Adam may have called, which meant identifying the recipient of each individual call. Even then there was no guarantee that the connection to their missing person would be obvious.

Remembering how much he hated this kind of grunt work, Jack felt the need for a distraction.

"Did you buy any of that?" he asked pointedly.

Looking up from the thick pile of records spread in front of her, Sam raised an eyebrow. "If she's lying to anyone, I think it's only to herself."

From behind his equally large mass of papers, he regarded her curiously. Samantha's insights, although often entirely accurate, always had the ability to both amuse and disturb him at the same time.

"I'm assuming you're going to elaborate on that point," he sniggered.

Sam shrugged. "Well, if you need it spelling out."

Grateful that the earlier tension between them had miraculously eased, Jack attempted a glare in her direction. However, it came across more as a smirk and Sam smiled in spite of herself.

"She's got Adam up on this pedestal, right?" She caught Jack's eye. "He's the perfect boss, the perfect husband, the perfect father." She shrugged again. "If she suspects that he's cheating on his wife, and it's not with her, how do you think it's gonna make her feel?"

Noting Jack's badly disguised discomfort, Sam's expression softened. Her tone was teasing, but gentle.

"Are you going to clam up on me every time this subject comes up? 'Cause in our line of work, that might be a problem." Jack watched her guiltily. "We can't change what happened," she delicately reminded him.

At that comment, a new emotion crossed his face – regret? Was that it? Deciding that either implication of that feeling would be awkward at best, painful at worst, she quickly moved on.

"Let's just keep looking, all right?"

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**10.29am**

"I think I may have found something."

Jack looked up swiftly at Samantha's declaration. "What've you got?"

"A Boston number." There was a note of triumph in her voice and it involuntarily raised his spirits. In a fluid movement, Sam reached out to the phone next to her, punching in the number from the sheet.

He gave her a questioning look. "You know we do have more official ways of obtaining that information."

Sam simply held up a hand to silence him as she switched the device to speaker phone. The two agents listened to the recorded message that began playing.

"Hello, you've reached the office of Dr. Ellen Crawforth. I'm sorry we can't take your call. Office hours are…"

"Good morning," sounded a harried voice interrupting the machine. "Dr. Crawforth's office. Can I help you?"

Sam glanced briefly at Jack before continuing. He nodded his approval.

"Hi. My name's Samantha Spade. I'm a Special Agent with the New York branch of the F.B.I. I'm trying to trace a call which you received on Monday morning."

Her introduction was met with silence. After several seconds a response was still not forthcoming and Sam tried again.

"Okay, I know this may be unexpected, but could you tell me if you received a call from a Mr. Adam Walker on Monday morning. It would've been a little before nine am."

Through the speaker, the agents could hear the distinctive sound of the rustling pages of an appointment book. This was followed by yet another silence.

Finally a nasal voice spoke up. "Look, I don't want to get into any trouble, but Dr. Crawforth isn't here right now, and I'm not sure if I can disclose that information over the telephone, to _anyone_."

"That's fine." Samantha's tone was patient, but she threw a humorous look of irritation in Jack's direction.

Suppressing a smile, he mouthed to her. "At least somebody knows the law."

Ignoring him, she continued to push the receptionist. "I know you don't have any proof that I'm who I say I am. I'm not asking you to break any doctor-patient confidentiality. But it's really important if you can just tell us whether Adam Walker placed that call."

After an audible sigh, they could once again hear pages turning. They stopped and the voice re-appeared hesitantly.

"Okay, we did receive a call for an appointment from Mr. Walker on Monday." She unenthusiastically droned.

This was hard work. "Did you take the call?" Samantha forced her tone to remain friendly, despite the receptionist's unwillingness to reciprocate.

"Yes."

"And did he make an appointment?" It was like pulling teeth.

"Yes. For Tuesday morning," she added after a beat.

"Do you know if he attended the appointment?" Both Sam and Jack's attention was now rapt.

"I'm sorry." Her apathy was giving way to panic. "I really think you need to discuss this with Dr. Crawforth. She'll be back just after eleven."

Jack shrugged. The woman was just doing her job, no matter how frustrating it was for them.

"All right," Samantha instructed. "I'll tell you what. Two of my colleagues are going to be coming over to talk to you later this morning. And it'd really help if you'd have a think about it and tell them everything you can that will help them."

The woman kept her mouth shut, but they could sense she was nodding.

"Oh, one more thing," Sam added nonchalantly. "What kind of doctor is Ellen Crawforth?"

The woman seemed surprised at the obviousness of the question. "She's a psychiatrist," she responded before hurriedly hanging up the phone.

As she flicked off the speaker, Sam exchanged an intrigued glance with Jack.

As he reached over for the phone, their fingers brushed lightly.

Steadily maintaining the eye contact, he shrugged. "I'll call Danny," he said simply.

**TBC**


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace." I make no money from this!

**Chapter Thirteen**

**The Office of Dr. Ellen Crawforth, Boston.**

**11.48am**

"So, you're saying he never showed up for his appointment?"

Danny Taylor looked up enquiringly at Dr. Crawforth, waiting for confirmation of his mostly rhetorical question.

"That's right," she nodded. "I had him down for a nine am appointment. When he wasn't here by nine thirty, I had Tamsin," her eyes glanced in the direction of her office door and the reception desk right outside, "call him and leave a message. He never called back."

Whilst Danny was scrawling down a series of illegible notes, Martin glanced around the room – discretely checking the collection of framed certificates, recommendations and diplomas which covered the walls. After being kept waiting for forty-five minutes, whilst the doctor finished her morning appointments, there was a tacit agreement that they should get this over with as quickly as possible. Particularly as that forty-five minutes had been spent in the company of the less than welcoming Tamsin. Still harbouring resentment on being interrupted by 'that FBI lady' during her morning coffee break, it turned out she was no more willing to disclose any more information in person, than she had been over the phone. Although barely out of her teens, the mentioning of warrants had done little to convince her to acknowledge their presence, let alone to speculate on the motives of her bosses' would-be client. Martin was torn between whether he should lecture her on her complete lack of deference toward any symbol of unfamiliar authority, or commend her for it.

They were now seated in Ellen Crawforth's outer office. A door behind her desk led to her inner sanctum, which she had explained, on their entrance, was a space reserved solely for her clients. The doctor herself was a motherly figure with long, slightly greying hair and a warm smile. The family motif spread throughout the room, from the pile of crayoned drawings on the edge of her mahogany desk, to the brightly coloured boxes of games and toys in the corner of the room. Martin noted that the largest section of texts on her jumbled shelves dealt with various aspects of developmental psychology – matching the series of credentials which hung next to them.

"And you didn't try and contact him again?" Danny barely looked up from his pad.

The doctor smiled. "I admit I was a little surprised when he didn't call back. He'd been so insistent on the phone the day before, that I switched around several appointments to make time for him. But it's not exactly the first time this has happened."

Both agents looked to her as she continued to explain.

"Believe it or not, most people are a little nervous before their first session with me," she shook her head self-effacingly, "or indeed with my entire profession. It's not unusual for some people to fail to show up for their first three or four appointments before they finally get the courage to walk through that door." She focused on the Hispanic agent, sensing perhaps that he had some understanding of where she was coming from. "When he didn't arrive, I just assumed that he maybe wasn't as ready to talk as he'd thought he was."

"Did Adam tell you over the phone exactly why it was that he'd made the appointment in the first place?" Martin opened his own notebook.

Dr. Crawforth shook her head. "No, he didn't say. Now I think about it, it was a little strange."

"How so?" Danny spoke up.

"Well, for one thing, he was so insistent that the appointment be with me, and not one of my colleagues. He mentioned that he used to live in the area, which is how he'd heard of me. I told him that in recent years I'd dealt mostly within a highly specialised area," she indicated their setting, "but he seemed so determined, like he'd really researched this, that I decided to make him one of my several exceptions."

Danny looked thoughtful. "Did he seem… rational?"

The doctor took a moment to consider. "As a matter of fact, yes. I think that's what was so odd about it. He was actually very calm, very polite about the whole matter." She noticed the agent frown slightly and added. "He may have been unrelenting, but I've dealt with many… unstable… people in my time, and I didn't class Mr. Walker as one of them."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**Home of Adam and Laura Walker, Hempstead, NY.**

**12.15pm**

"Yeah, we'll check it out. Thanks, Danny."

Jack mumbled discreetly into his cell phone. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Sam and Viv in a deep but muffled conversation on the other side of the Walkers' living room. Laura Walker was in the kitchen making coffee for the growing number of law enforcement personnel who were becoming a regular feature in her home.

After listening to the young agent recount the rest of the visit to Doctor Crawforth, he paused for a moment, thinking.

"Okay, so we still don't have much to go on, but it's still more than we had a couple of hours ago."

Danny briefly concurred as his boss continued.

"All right, here's what we're going to do. Sam and I are going to stay here and see if Laura Walker can shed any light on the appointment with the shrink. Viv is off to pay a visit to a couple of the Walkers' friends in the neighbourhood. It seems like the disappearance of one of their own has warranted personal days all round. And I want you and Martin to retrace Adam's last known steps. I want to know what he did when he got off that flight. Talk to cab drivers, airport staff, anyone who might have seen him. Tell Martin to check out any security footage they might have of their arrivals. There's no credit card activity, so it's doubtful he rented a car, but call any local motels he might've checked into and paid cash. Someone has to have seen him, even if they don't remember yet."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

As Viv filled her in on the rest of the background she'd got on Adam and Laura Walker the previous day, Sam found herself wondering which of their fellow agents Jack was speaking on the phone with. Although common sense told her it was Danny, after all, he'd been liaising with their boss since the previous day, she couldn't help but feel irrationally uncomfortable. So what if Jack was on the phone with Martin? Was she expecting some sort of duel? Was one of them suddenly going to protect her honour? Which one would it be? This was ridiculous. She wasn't exactly an innocent victim in all this. She'd made choices and, like Jack, she had to learn to live with them.

"Okay then, I'm going to head off."

As she spoke, Viv followed the path of Sam's distracted gaze. It was more a formality than a necessity, as she knew exactly what had caught her attention, but she felt mildly disappointed non-the-less. Although she'd made her feelings on this matter glaringly clear to Jack, around her female co-worker she had always been a little more reticent. In recent months, her long-standing friendship with her once-again boss was only just over-coming the stumbling block which had been her short-lived promotion. However, their relationship was secure enough to withstand it. In a professional capacity, her blonde colleague's personal relationship with the boss, or whatever it was between the two of them now, was out of her jurisdiction. And on a personal level, although the two women got along on the job, their private lives were so different that there was very little common ground. As neither were particularly fond of small talk their relationship was friendly but hardly close. She had always guessed that the younger woman was aware of her knowledge about the affair, and this had been confirmed the day Jack had announced his departure for Chicago. Yet the subject was purposefully avoided between them. That said, if Jack was doing something that was going to screw up the team, she had a right to know.

"Samantha?"

"Huh?"

"Is everything all right?"

Shaking herself out of her reverie, Sam forced her attention back to the older woman's words.

"Yeah, sorry Viv. I guess I was a bit out of it."

"You look tired. Are you sure you're okay?"

Despite a momentary flicker of irritation, knowing exactly what her colleague was insinuating, the kindness that clearly lay behind the words made her soften her tone.

"Are you trying to tell me I look like crap?"

Samantha's voice was light and a genuine smile crossed her face, but she really did look exhausted. And not in the same way she'd looked drained on several other mornings within more recent recollection, Viv noted. She smiled back warmly.

"Not at all." She paused, her expression becoming more pensive. "Look, if there's anything that…"

She let the sentence trail off, but Sam nodded her understanding. The look in her eyes betrayed the sudden gratefulness she felt for her colleague's reserve, but her manner was casual.

"Nah, it's nothing a good night's sleep won't fix." The smile reappeared but she flinched silently under the other woman's unwavering appraisal.

"If you say so." Viv nodded slowly. "Oh, and I'm going to be knocking off a little early tonight – parent-teacher conference at Reggie's school. Jack knows, but could you just remind him later? He's had a lot on his mind, so you know how it is…"

With that comment she turned and headed out into the hallway, briefly waving at her boss as he hung up his cell and made his way over to them.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**1.24pm**

"You're saying he did _what_?"

Laura Walker shook her head in bemusement, looking up at the two agents sitting forward on the couch in front of her. It was the female agent who spoke up, her tone was gentle and there was something about the vibe between the two of them that set her at ease.

"I know this is a lot to take in, Mrs Walker, but can you think of any reason why your husband would have gone all the way to Boston for a psychiatrist's appointment which he then failed to attend?"

Sam watched as the woman shrugged helplessly and ran her hands through her tangled ponytail. When no response came, she shot a look over at Jack.

"Mrs Walker," his voice was gruff but compassionate, "we really need you to be honest with us here. Because, if you're holding something back, for whatever reason, however personal or irrelevant it might seem, it could well be the key to understanding your husband's behaviour. And unless we can do that, finding him is going to be extremely difficult."

"I hear you've been talking to Jenn."

Samantha tilted her head at Laura's statement. Just how much of this was she actually processing? She was about to attempt to prompt her back on track when she continued.

"I told Agent Johnson and Agent Fitzgerald yesterday that Adam wasn't having an affair. He wouldn't do that to me."

Jack shifted slightly in his seat – an action that went unnoticed by Laura, but not by Samantha. As if to mask his reaction, he shifted his weight further forward.

"I understand your discomfort with these sorts of questions, I really do." He took a beat. "But we were following a lead. There's no evidence that Adam is involved with another woman, but if this doctor's appointment is the only reason he got on that plane, then we need you to shed some light on why that might be."

There was another silence and both agents were now doubtful that Laura Walker was coping with this as well as it had initially appeared. However, when she finally spoke up, her voice was strong and forthright.

"Jenn said that your colleagues were asking questions about mine and Adam's family backgrounds?"

"That's correct." Jack nodded. "It's a standard question in this kind of situation." He stopped again, hesitantly, before slowly enquiring. "Is there something in Adam's background that might've made him seek out professional help?"

Laura's demeanour once again seemed to crumble before them. Samantha shifted forward in her own seat until she was mirroring Jack's position. Subconsciously reaching out, she caught the woman's attention.

"I know this is painful, but if you know why Adam felt he needed a psychiatrist, you need to tell us."

Again, Laura toyed with her hair. "I just don't understand why he didn't talk to me about this. He'd been exhausted the last few months, but I thought he was just worried about work. He'd been having really bad headaches like he always does when he's stressed, but then it just turned out he needed reading glasses and…"

The agents waited patiently as she forced herself to focus.

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "Look, neither Adam or I exactly come from stable family backgrounds. But, who does these days, right?" She caught a flicker of understanding in Jack's eyes and shrugged. "I told the agents yesterday that Adam and I moved back to New York when my mom got sick, it's just that she wasn't really physically sick."

As Laura took a breath before continuing her story, Sam sneaked another glance at Jack. His posture had stiffened and she fought an impulse to rest her hand on his arm.

"She'd been depressed most of the time I was growing up, and it just got worse when my dad died." She noticed Jack's questioning look and elaborated slightly. "Let's just say that Adam could sympathize with having a parent whose problems you can't really understand."

Suddenly wishing that she was conducting this interview alone, Sam quickly interjected.

"Again, I know this is difficult, but you're going to have to give us a few more details."

Laura nodded and attempted to smile. "I know. I'm sorry, it's just that Adam always hated talking about this. He hasn't mentioned it more than a couple of times in the last ten years. He really didn't have to, it was obvious in how much he loves David." At the thought of her son, a layer of tears formed in her eyes but she fought them back. "I think I mentioned yesterday that Adam's father left when he was very young? Well, the truth was, that he… er… how did Adam put it? He wasn't a 'well man'."

Samantha's brow furrowed questioningly. Seeing her expression, Laura pressed on.

"I think the term would probably be bi-polar, but from what I understand, it was never actually diagnosed. He left before anyone got a chance."

"Left?" Jack's voice came out of nowhere.

"Yeah, when Adam was about seven or eight, I think. They never found out what happened to him. Adam hated him for all those years, but it was only when his mother died, when we were in college, that he found out the truth. He'd always thought his dad was just a loser, so when he found out he'd been ill, he took it pretty hard."

Jack's next question came out a little stilted. "Do you think that Adam may have been concerned that something similar could happen to him?"

Laura started to shake her head but then stopped, wiping away a stray tear that had somehow escaped.

"I want to say no, that he would have talked to me if he was worried about something like that. But after the last couple of days, I don't know. I really don't know." She stopped, as more tears began to fall. "I'm sorry, but will you excuse me for a minute."

As if lost in his own thoughts, Jack nodded as Laura swiftly exited the room.

"Jack?" Sam watched him carefully, waiting for a response. "Jack?" She kept her tone neutral. "You okay?"

"Yeah," came the curt reply. He looked up and saw her expression. "Sorry. What?"

Unsure of Laura's whereabouts, her voice was hushed. "What did you think of all that?"

Jack seemed to be battling with some sort of emotion, but Sam wasn't sure exactly what. His face was closed and he just felt… distant. If she'd been concerned before that this case was becoming a little too personal for him, this threw her apprehension to a whole new level.

When he answered, his voice was measured, but it seemed that he was making some effort to keep it that way.

"I think we have one explanation as to why Adam Walker may have sought out a psychiatrist."

Her expression became cautious. He met her stare. "What?"

"Do you think…," she faltered and her tone dropped even lower. "Do you think there's a chance it might be…"

"Suicide?" Jack held her gaze.

"Yeah."

"No."

The firmness in his response surprised himself almost as much as it did Sam. He knew that she was forming her own opinions on how he was reacting to this case, and to everything, and he was powerless to stop her. In truth, if she weren't doing just that, he'd be more lost than he knew. But his actions had already been analysed a damn sight more than he was comfortable with lately. He didn't want anyone walking on eggshells around him on this, and certainly not Samantha. After Spaulding, his own family history was no longer a secret, but he didn't need anyone's pity. Biting back an unexpected wave of anger, he could feel Sam still watching him. Her silence spoke volumes.

_Get a grip, Malone. This isn't her fault. There's only so many times in twenty-four hours that you can be an asshole toward her and she'll forgive you. I think you've definitely used up this week's quota._

For once taking his own advice, he stopped himself. But the look in Sam's eyes told him she'd been with him every step of the way. She waited cautiously.

He smiled tiredly, revealing a self-consciousness that he rarely allowed himself.

"Look, I know I may not be the best person to rationalize this, but as you lot often seem to forget, I do have a Master's degree in Psychology." Sam's relief at the direction he'd taken was palpable as he continued. "From everything we've learned about Adam's movements on Monday, it does not sound like the actions of a guy who's planning on taking his own life anytime soon. I'm not saying that this isn't somehow related to his family history, I'm just saying that there's very little to suggest suicide."

Sam nodded. "I agree. But it still doesn't explain why he went to Boston. It's not like there are no shrinks in New York. From what the doctor said, it doesn't sound as if he was particularly irrational when he made the appointment. There's got to be a reason he went all that way."

"Maybe he was afraid that people would find out if he saw someone here? Maybe he didn't want to worry his wife, his family…" Jack shrugged. "I don't know. Why do people do any of the things they do?"

At this, Sam raised her eyebrows, hoping to lighten the situation. "Are you getting philosophical on me, Jack?"

His shoulders relaxed, and he finally cracked a genuine smile. "Me? Never."

"Good, because I'm not too sure I could handle that right now."

Before Jack could ascertain any meaning from that last remark, the door creaked and both agents looked up. It was Laura. She had obviously been crying and a phone was clutched in her hand. As she came closer to them she thrust it out in front of her.

"It's Jenn," she said brokenly. "I think you need to talk to her."

**TBC**


	14. Chapter Fourteen

_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". I make no money from this! 

**A/N:** Yeah, okay, this was meant to a nice, easy, straight-forward, plot-driven little chapter to write, and it ended up becoming my nightmare! I did intend to write a little note saying thank you to all you wonderful people who are still reading and reviewing. But instead I firstly have to thank SpyMaster for pointing out the stuff in my original version which didn't make that much sense, and secondly, a huge, huge thanks going out to Newlands! She really beta'd the hell out of this one for me to the point where I think I should actually be sharing authorship! Newlands, I have a feeling I may have mentioned this over email once or twice, but I'll say it again – you're a star:) Hope you all enjoy!

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Logan Airport, Boston. **

**12.35pm**

"Okay, hundreds of cabs, one of me. I'm not convinced this is gonna go so well." Danny shot his partner a conspiratorially beleaguered but good-humoured expression. He didn't hold out much hope that the other agent was going to share a joke this afternoon, but it was worth a try. Or, maybe not?

"Well, I guess I'll be at the security offices," stated Martin flatly in return, more than a hint of dissatisfaction underlying the statement.

Purposefully ignoring the tone, Danny shrugged and forced a grin. "Hey, I did my time yesterday. Now it's your turn. It's not all about running after the bad guy, waving our guns around, you know?"

Barely acknowledging the comment, Martin turned and headed into the terminal building. Danny watched him go, allowing himself a small shake of his head before he turned to the task at hand. In front of him was a strip of taxi cabs as far as the eye could see. As people rushed haphazardly from the terminal in the direction of the front cars, the drivers further down the line stood around talking idly, smoking and seemingly enjoying their down-time.

He looked down at the two pieces of paper in his hand. One was a list of drivers who were regularly scheduled for airport pick-ups and the other was a large colour head shot of a smiling, carefree-looking Adam Walker. Although grateful that the airport contracted only two main cab companies for their business, that failed to exclude any number of private drivers hanging around looking for an easy buck. He sighed as he took in the sight in front of him. Common sense told him that there was an easier way to do this, but this was the last known location of their missing person and this was where he must start. Shoving the list back in his pocket but keeping hold of the photo, he began to make his way down the line.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**1.32pm**

Having still not heard from Martin, so figuring the security angle was kind of a bust, Danny was about to tackle his thirtieth disinterested cab driver in an hour when he'd noticed a small commotion breaking out further down the approach. Clearly there was no real fight for cabs at this hour, so his attention had been drawn. It appeared that a hefty figure who had emerged awkwardly from one of the first cabs in the line was gesturing somewhat wildly to his fellow drivers; who, in turn, were clearly gesturing something back. Heading in the direction of the noise, out of habit more than any real idea of how he could help, the agent had stopped in his tracks as he realised they were all pointing at him. The large man was now walking as quickly as his frame would allow toward him. On his arrival, Danny found the photograph of Adam Walker snatched unceremoniously from his numb hand, and an enormous red face nodding somewhat enthusiastically in his direction. After taking a moment to introduce himself, the driver launched into his story.

"Yeah, I picked the guy up, on Monday night, I think. I remember him 'cause he looked like this well-dressed business guy but he didn't even have an overnight bag with him. When I asked him why he was here, he got all weird. I figured he wasn't here for business, you know? So, I remember it."

Danny looked, almost in disbelief, at the dangerously overweight figure in front of him. It wasn't so much that the guy's jacket would barely fasten, or that he seemed to be happily oblivious to the icy sting of the air which was making even a die-hard New Yorker want to run for cover. His main problem was that this was just too easy! After having spent a day and a half running in circles, key witnesses were not meant to wander up to you on the street. It's just not how it was supposed to work.

"And it was definitely him?"

The driver stared at him sceptically, holding up his two abnormally large hands for emphasis.

"Yeah."

"And you took him to a motel in the city?"

"Yeah, just some dump down on the South side. No idea why he'd want to stay somewhere like that. He didn't look like he couldn't afford any place else. But then it was none of my business."

Danny watched him carefully. It was their first real break of the day. It all seemed a little too good to be true, but despite the man's unnerving willingness to impart the information, it seemed reliable enough. He smiled mirthlessly. "And can you remember the name of this establishment?"

The driver returned the smile, knowingly. "Well, I can't remember the name, not off the top of my head. But I can take you there – for a small fee, of course."

Danny nodded. "Of course. If you could hold that thought for one minute…" Smoothly he whipped out his cell and punched in a familiar number.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**Logan Airport Security Offices**

**1.16pm**

Glaring at the large digital clock mocking him from the wall opposite, Martin looked down and once again checked his own watch. It turned out neither instrument was lying, and he had in fact been waiting in this sterile, uncomfortable holding area for almost an hour. He was beginning to get a vague idea of how it must feel for unsuspecting passengers who got hauled in by the tightened airport security. The only problem with this scenario was that he was a damn FBI agent. It was meant to be him asking the questions.

Instead he was sitting in a plastic chair being plied with acidic coffee by an apologetic personal assistant who had now explained four times that his boss, the Head of Security, was occupied dealing with a matter of extreme importance in one of the other terminal buildings. As he was the only person with clearance to grant the permission needed to access the relevant information, Martin would just have to wait. Unfortunately, the one question that the young man couldn't answer was just how long this procedure was going to take.

The coffee, however, was not the only thing that seemed to be streaming through Martin's system. By his own admission, he was usually a pretty calm and collected guy. But the longer today went on, the more he had an almost over-whelming urge to just… throw something – although nothing large, or too destructive as yet. But if he could just do something to ease the increasing sense of frustration, bubbling ever more urgently to the surface.

He was uptight today; he knew it. And there was one thought that kept pushing itself to the front of his mind, no matter how hard he tried to subdue it. It wasn't exactly welcome but it just wouldn't leave him alone. When it came down to it, he just wasn't used to questioning whether there might be an ulterior motive behind his boss' orders. There was more than one reason why he was currently sitting in this room and he really didn't like the conclusions he was beginning to draw from this.

Firstly, he still was not convinced that this entire investigation wasn't a bust. In different circumstances, that alone would irritate him, but not like this. Admittedly, they now seemed to be onto something with the psychiatrist angle. But it wasn't as if Jack had actually known about that when he'd sent them on this apparent wild goose chase to Boston. Martin had never been one to complain too much about grunt work, but this seemed like something else. Was there another reason why Jack wanted him out of New York so badly?

His thoughts lingered on his boss. From the first day he'd stepped into the Missing Person's Unit, he'd looked up to Jack Malone. The guy was brilliant and seemingly fearless, and the kind of man Martin had always wished to emulate. Sure he'd known that Jack had his flaws. It wasn't exactly a well-kept secret that his boss had spent nine months living in a motel around the corner from his wife and kids. But somehow this had never bothered Martin too much. In fact, until his conversation with Samantha several months earlier, he'd never really given Jack's personal deficiencies much thought. And when he'd finally got what he wanted after almost two years of waiting, he had _forced _himself not to think too hard about the reasons behind Jack's domestic woes. Just because he may desire to be more like Jack Malone professionally, Martin knew that personally, he was very much his own man. And until now, that had never really been a problem.

He did want to be more like Jack on the job. That much he would admit to himself. And it wasn't just because Jack was the polar opposite of his father.

A part of him, his father's son, could hear loud and clear that little voice in his head.

_Sleeping with your boss' ex might not be the best way to get ahead in your career, you know?_

Yet, until now perhaps, this didn't quite seem fair. Even if he didn't always like Jack all that much, he'd always been able to respect him. And despite the rookie mistakes that he had undoubtedly made in his first couple of years, Jack had always been there, reprimanding him, yes, giving him a hard time on occasion, absolutely, but continuing to trust him and believing in his ability to do his job, always.

But now it seemed that Jack was letting his personal feelings cloud his professional judgement. Thinking back, this was not exactly a new accusation. In fact, Martin had heard it levelled at him on one memorable occasion in particular. But at that time, there had been matters more pressing than a pointed but veiled comment from a superior agent and, although slightly confused, he'd let it go without any further analysis.

This time, however, Martin was finding it difficult to let his doubts over Jack's motives go. His initial reaction had been one of disappointment. In his mind's eye, he envisioned the way that Jack had stood up to Victor Fitzgerald in Washington, the same way Jack had stood up to Van Doren, and OPR, and pretty much anyone else who Martin had seen get in his way. Naïve as it may have been, he felt let down. Maybe he should have learned this lesson by now, but he had still expected more. But the more he thought about it, the more this feeling gave way to anger. The version of Jack he was creating here, was Jack Malone, FBI agent and it was very clear who that man was. What was not quite so clear, was who Jack Malone, Samantha Spade's ex-lover was. Because from the distinct shift in mood that Martin had sensed in yesterday's bullpen meeting, that was who he was now facing.

From the moment that Jack and Sam had arrived back at the office together the previous day, Martin had felt on edge. He couldn't put his finger on why, but there was a vibe in the air that had made him feel uneasy, or more accurately, unnecessary. He'd felt Jack watching him, from the minute he'd approached Samantha. Why he'd felt the need to talk to her the moment their boss had headed toward his office, he wasn't sure. Maybe it was little more than a defiant attempt to stake his claim, or whatever the hell it was he'd felt he needed. But he was fairly certain he was not the only one who'd been partaking in this outward display of machismo. He, along with everyone else, had seen the look in Jack's eyes as he'd challenged him at the conference table. And it was more than just a mentor showing his greater level of experience. There had been a petulance there which Martin had never before witnessed. Jack had pulled rank and no-one could pretend it was purely professional.

No matter how much professional respect Martin had for his boss, he was not going to let him screw with either his personal life, or his career.

Maybe there had been a certain amount of arrogance on his part, but he had worked hard to convince himself that, when it came down to it, Jack could not compete with him personally. After all, he'd had his chance and, after everything that had happened, what future could he really offer Samantha?

But maybe, in hindsight, it had just been a lot easier to think like this before Jack was in the game. Then again, maybe he always had been playing and Martin had just been too naïve to realise it. This _thing_ had been going on for months, and the longer it continued, the more he seemed to allow her to just jerk him around. If it were purely for professional reasons that Samantha insisted on this _secrecy_, then he could have understood, empathised even. But she didn't seem to have too much of a problem with Danny knowing, or Viv for that matter. It wasn't as if Jack, _their boss_, would have too much say in the matter. But, as he was slowly coming to realise, this might not be the Jack he was dealing with now.

"Umm, excuse me. Agent Fitzgerald?"

Martin looked up, sharply at the young PA once again standing in front of him. He hadn't even noticed him enter.

The young man took a slight involuntary back-step as the agent raised his head.

"Er, sorry. You can go in there now."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**Boston's Southside**

**2.08pm**

Spending almost an hour waiting for the airport security to deign to come out and talk to him had done nothing to improve Martin's mood, Danny decided. It also hadn't helped that they'd had absolutely nothing of any use to tell him. Other than confirming, as they already knew, that Adam Walker had been on the flight, no-one remembered seeing him, nothing out of the ordinary had happened on Monday night, and there was no security footage to cover any of the areas he might have been. Now, if anything, Martin was even more morose than earlier and Danny quietly prayed that they'd find Adam holed up in the run-down 'bed and breakfast' style motel that they were now standing outside. The sooner they closed this case the better, for everyone's sake.

After the cab driver had dropped them off in same place, or so he'd promised, as he'd left Adam Walker on Monday night, he'd sped off back to his usual haunt. If he'd been expecting a larger tip than he'd got, Danny's stony glare had answered his query as he rejoined the early afternoon traffic.

Now the two agents found themselves in front of an empty looking, dirty red-brick construction, sporting a faded sign that read simply, "24 hour motel". The building couldn't have contained more than a dozen rooms and looked far from welcoming by any stretch of the imagination. Despite its location, it was in fact set slightly back from the street. But any pretence of a courtyard was erased by the wire netting that encircled it. A clump of unkempt and overgrown shrubbery, running along the edge of the building and straying down the path to the sidewalk, was the only relief from brick and stone. The only benefit it could have offered their missing person, Danny noted, was its proximity – just a couple of blocks from the downtown office of Dr. Crawforth. Feeling slightly encouraged by this fact, he was about to head in through the crudely alarmed front door, when he realised that Martin had impatiently beaten him to it.

The sight that greeted them was expected, but unpleasant nonetheless. The reception area, if that's what it could be called, was a dingy enclave with damp, peeling wallpaper and a skinny moustached figure slouching across a grimy counter enclosed within a sealed wire and re-enforced glass cage. The air reeked of stale cigarette smoke mixed with rancid alcohol and the shrilling of the bell, as the agents had entered, had done nothing to rouse the proprietor. Fighting back a wave of repulsion, mixed with a flurry of unwanted memories, Danny watched as his partner marched to the window and proceeded to bang his fist sharply against the screen. This was possibly the first time that Martin had spoken more than two words since their earlier phone conversation, and something in his tone and mannerisms made Danny distinctly uneasy. He'd seen Martin wound up on a case before, but this new anger seemed purely of a personal nature. He wasn't too sure what he'd missed in the short time that they'd been apart that afternoon, but whatever was going through the guy's head right now, it really wasn't seeming too healthy.

"Hey! Hello? FBI! Come on!" Martin hollered as he shoved his ID to the window.

The man stirred as if from a peaceful sleep and looked up, seemingly unperturbed at his irate customer.

"Okay. Calm down. What can I do for you?" he slurred, casually taking in the source of his disturbance in the dim light. As his face met with the badge now placed at eye-level, his posture straightened but his brain took a little while to catch up. The face on the other side of the glass was now glowering at him intently.

Shaking himself, as if to clear whatever it was that had incontestably intoxicated his system, he rubbed his bloodshot eyes.

At this point, Danny chose to step up alongside Martin, holding his now slightly worn photograph of Adam in front of him. His expression and tone were relaxed, but there was no doubting in his posturing that he meant business.

"We're looking for this guy here, right? Now we know that he came here on Monday night. But it's a funny thing, you see, nobody's seen him since. You wanna help us out here?"

The man rubbed his eyes again, forcing himself to focus.

"I'm the manager," he succeeded in groaning as he pushed himself up off his chair and gulped back a large glass of cloudy looking water from the desk behind him. Danny shuddered inwardly at the thought.

"So you _have_ seen him?"

Martin was so close to the glass now, he was almost pressed against it.

The manager blinked rather rapidly. "Yeah, sure. I let him a room here a couple of nights ago. Didn't say much. He paid cash."

As he spoke he made his way painfully to the side of the cage. Opening a heavy steel door he re-appeared on the outside, a couple of feet from Martin, who turned to face him. Both agents could now smell the sickly sweet aroma which clung to his hair and clothes.

"So when did you _last_ see him?"

Martin's tone was becoming increasingly aggressive and the man stepped back, almost stumbling into the glass. Subconsciously, or so it seemed, Martin found himself taking a step closer.

"I don't know. When he checked in, I guess. He must've left when I was sleeping, 'cause I never saw him again."

"He never checked out?" Martin asked incredulously.

The manager shrugged. "This ain't really that kinda place."

"Well, can we see the room he stayed in?" Danny enquired, barely masking his own frustration.

Again, the man shrugged. "If you'd like. Not that there's anything in there. All he left was a case with a bunch of papers in it and a card thing."

"You're saying he never even came back for his belongings?" Martin took another step forward.

"No. Like I said, I never saw him again."

"So, what did you do with his stuff?" Danny's voice was light but his eyes suggested anything but.

The manager pointed to the desk at the back of the cage. On top of it in plain view was an open briefcase with papers spilling out.

Martin looked at the desk then back at the manager. His voice now had a definite edge to it.

"I presume you're the one who opened his case, right?" He took yet another step closer. "Are you sure he didn't leave anything else, like a wallet, or a cell phone?" His tone was accusatory and he was now inches from the guy's face.

The man was now almost backed up against the glass. He eyed the agent warily as a genuine fear crossed his features.

As if catching himself, Martin took a breath and stepped back. He was pretty sure the guy was scum, but no more so than many of the people he dealt with on a daily basis. This wasn't the time for this behaviour and he knew it. But it was somehow taking a lot more effort to stand down than he was used to.

"Look man, I didn't take anything, if that's what you're saying." His hands shaking, the witness manoeuvred his body to give himself enough space to pull something out of his pocket.

Martin snatched it from him as Danny exhaled quietly. Sure he and Martin pulled this act on suspects all the time, but this had felt like less of an act than he was comfortable with. And from the brief look he'd caught on his partner's face, he got the impression that he was not the only one who'd felt that way. Martin actually seemed to be surprising himself.

There was a brief silence as both agents studied the object. There was no doubt about it. It was a swipe card from Redding, Phillips and Hurst.

"Okay, we believe you," interjected Danny after a moment, and with only a minimal amount of cynicism. "But we're still gonna need to see that room."

Catching Martin's eye to offer him a friendly but questioning glance, he trailed slightly as they set off down the dank corridor in which Adam Walker had last been seen. Taking a surreptitious look at his partner, Danny pulled out his cell to once again update Jack.

**TBC**


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". I make no money from this!

**A/N:** Thanks, once again, to Newlands for the beta and the words of encouragement.

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Home of Adam and Laura Walker, Hempstead, NY.**

**2.03pm**

Exchanging a quick glance with Samantha, Jack stood and reached out to carefully grasp the phone from Laura Walker's shaking hand. Concerned, he watched as she slowly lowered herself back into the chair opposite, before he spoke.

"Jack Malone."

The voice on the other end of the line was formal but breathless and Jack found himself straining in order to hear it.

"Er. Hello. This is Jennifer Antidormi. Um, I spoke with two of your agents earlier today."

Jack's tone was civil and professional. "We thank you for your assistance, Ms. Antidormi. Now, Mrs. Walker said you had something you needed to tell us?"

There was a pause on the line as he heard the woman's voice hitch. It was a couple of seconds before she could force her next words out.

"It's… I… I don't know what your colleagues told you about my cell phone but… er… my partner got back from her trip and I just managed to check my messages and," she paused as if collecting herself, "I just found a message that Adam left me. On Monday night."

She breathed deeply, her tension palpable even over the long distance connection.

"What did it say? Do you still have it?" Jack enquired, now fully alert.

The sense of urgency in his voice caused Sam to look up. His eyes were focused and intense. She looked over at Laura Walker who was sitting upright on the edge of her chair, her face strained and pale.

This time her tone was solemn but firm. "Yes I have my cell right here. I can play it for you now."

Jack exhaled. Although he had no idea as yet what the message might say, from the woman's tone, and Laura Walker's ashen complexion, he had a sinking feeling that it wasn't going to be good.

"Okay," he replied steadily. "I'm probably still going to have to get a copy of it, but that would be helpful. Thank you."

There was a slight crackle as he heard the two instruments being placed closer together. It wasn't exactly ideal, and he'd still have to get the tech guys on it, but if this was the last time that anyone had heard from Adam Walker, then they had to take what they could get. Right now, all that mattered was the content of that message, and what it might mean.

He waited with a sense of trepidation for Adam's voice to filter through. No matter how many times he performed this clinical dissection of a stranger's life, reducing it to its most intimate components, he would never get used to the occasions where he was able to hear the lost voice first-hand. It always felt eerily akin to convening with a ghost. Despite himself, he felt the pull of anticipation as the message tone sounded. Everything else around him seemed to fade, as the tinny echo of Adam Walker reached out to him across the invisible void of the last three days.

"_Hello? Jenn? Okay, so you're not answering. Well it's me, Adam."_

The voice was deeper than Jack had somehow imagined, almost lilting. As he listened, he absently toyed with his tie, subconsciously pulling it away from his collar as he might do at the end of a particularly long day. In the recesses of his mind, he acknowledged the symmetry behind this action. As he absorbed the sound, he found himself crafting his own personal recreation of this singular moment in Adam Walker's life – his body-language, his facial expressions, his purpose. It was the incomplete sum of his day's work, Jack considered, to have built up such a detailed portrait of a person's life, and still have no real idea where they could be, or maybe more importantly, _why_ they were there.

"_Okay, so I guess you don't have your cell turned on. Big surprise, huh?"_

Adam paused, as a noise sounded in the background, a monotone pre-recorded announcement. As the details slowly shaded themselves in, Jack relaxed into them. He was at the airport.

As the broadcast ended, his voice picked up again.

"_So, I know this is kind of unexpected, but… I'm going to be in Boston tonight and… um… well, I just thought that…"_

Again the message broke off, but this time there was only silence. When Adam continued, there was a distinct shift in his tenor. The muscles in Jack's shoulders tensed imperceptibly at the change.

"_Oh God, Jenn. I really wish you'd pick up because I really need to… I really need to talk to someone and… I don't know what I'm… Shit. I'm really just messing all this up… But I…"_

There was another pause, this one longer. The bustle of the airport could still be heard in the background but, like Adam, Jack was barely conscious of it. All he could hear was the silence, permeated intermittently by deep unsteady breaths. When this stillness was broken, maybe thirty seconds later, Jack was unaware he'd been holding his own breath. He exhaled softly, as Adam's words flew out in a disjointed stream.

"_I… I just don't know what to do about this… It doesn't matter what I say, I just… I don't think I can watch this happen… not again… When you've been afraid of something for so long and then… I can't talk to Laura because… well, you know… There was so much anger… God… and it just scared me and… and I didn't know what to do and… It's like there's this cycle and it doesn't matter that I know about it…I try to do the right thing, but it's like sometimes I don't even know what that is anymore… I just need to make it stop…and I don't know any other way to do it."_

His voice broke off again as more seconds slowly ticked by. Jack waited. He knew there was more.

In the background, another announcement bell chimed. This time Adam didn't seem to acknowledge it. When he spoke again, there was a calm despondence to his tone, which caused something deep inside Jack to constrict; the stirrings of a memory becoming dislodged. There was a quality to Adam's voice that he couldn't help but recognise. It was helplessness.

"_I'm sorry. I just had to talk to someone… someone who knows us and… and I know you'll probably call Laura the minute you get this. And maybe you should… But then she'll worry and… I just needed to do this on my own. I shouldn't have called. I'm sorry, okay. I'm sorry."_

A deep sigh emitted down the line.

"_So, er… bye."_

As the slow beep set in, a gasp of air escaped Jack's lips and he found himself back in Adam's living room sharing a sorrowful stare with Laura Walker.

When neither of them spoke, Sam rose from her own chair and came to stand hesitantly next to Jack. Instinctively she reached out and laid a gentle hand on his forearm, which was still clutching the phone. The comforting sensation of her familiar touch snapped him back to the present, as he slowly lifted the receiver back to his ear.

He was met once again by the shaky greeting of Jennifer Antidormi.

"You have to find him. Please?"

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**2.15pm**

"Jack? Talk to me. Please?"

Laura Walker had once more taken refuge in the kitchen, leaving the two agents alone in her living room.

After Adam's wife had left the room, Jack had quietly sunk down onto the sofa behind them. Several minutes had now passed and he had yet to speak. There was something about the look in his eyes that worried Sam more than she could articulate. Sighing quietly she dropped into the seat beside him, turning her head to watch him. Not until she felt their shoulders softly grazing, did she fully realise their proximity.

Reacting to the contact, Jack turned toward her. From her anxious expression, he drew an understanding of the look which haunted his own face. When their eyes met, she smiled almost shyly as they both drew strength from the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

Without breaking the contact, she tilted her head.

Her voice was low and gentle. "You need to tell me what happened."

Looking away, Jack ran a hand through his hair. Sitting here on a sofa like this, allowing his mind to travel this particular dark path, he'd found another memory had been stirred – this one barely a year old. Only this new memory wasn't quite real. Or maybe the memory was real, just some of the details had been replaced? It was odd, the results that wishful thinking could produce. He couldn't help wonder where he'd be now, if Samantha had been the one sitting next to him on his couch the night that Spaulding had died. So, there it was again. Just one more layer of guilt to add to the mix.

He looked down, dimly aware of her hand hovering above his knee. It quivered slightly before she swiftly diverted it back to the safety of her own lap. He couldn't help but feel disappointed.

"I'm not so sure we're going to find him, Sam."

Samantha studied his profile. The investigator in her had a list of unanswered questions. Yet, personally, Jack's body language told her everything she needed to know. Fighting the emotional impulse to reach out to him, an action that she knew intellectually to be inappropriate on so many levels, she settled with re-positioning herself so their shoulders once again nudged.

"Should I start contacting the Boston morgues?"

Jack sighed, his body weight instinctively transferring to prolong the slight physical contact.

As he did so, he felt the familiar vibration in his jacket pocket and reached in to pluck out his cell phone.

"Danny?" he muttered wearily into the device.

He listened distractedly as Danny rapidly filled him in on the details of the taxi driver and Adam's choice of motel. About to interrupt with the bare details of their own latest development, Jack stopped suddenly. Sam turned in confusion as she saw him bolt upright in the chair until he was on his feet.

His features transformed as everything about him became sharp.

"Danny? Hang on… What did you just say about the psychiatrist?... No. What did you just call her? A kiddie…"

His despondence from just seconds earlier forgotten, one look in his eyes told Samantha that for whatever reason, Jack was back in the game.

"Okay, I want you and Martin to check every inch of that motel. If Adam Walker left anything else there, you are going to find it." He paused as Danny affirmed his order. "I need to know exactly what happened between that motel room and the doctor's office."

This time not waiting for a response, he focused suddenly in the direction of the kitchen as a revelation seemed to wash over his face.

"I'm gonna have to call you back."

**TBC**


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". I make no money from this!

**A/N:** Sorry that this is on the short side (and took such a long time for me to post). For those who have stuck with this, you may be relieved to know that the end is very much in sight - I'm just finding it a little harder than I anticipated to actually get there. Thank you so much to all those who have continued to review – it really does mean a lot to me still. And thanks once again to Newlands for the gentle nudging, to the well-placed kicks, to the… flattery and bribery (?), which go above and beyond the duties of a beta. :) There will be more soon, promise…

**Chapter Sixteen**

**The "24 Hour Motel", Boston's Southside.**

**2.41pm**

"If Adam Walker _did_ leave anything here, that manager sure did a hell of a job in clearing up."

Martin shrugged in resignation as he shut the door to the empty room behind him. With his partner leading the way, the two agents were now back in the dank corridor of the unimaginatively named motel's main core. Having been left alone to conduct their 'search' as their host slunk gratefully back to his command post, it had been clear from the outset that there was little to be learned from their missing person's last known temporary pit-stop. Although suspect in the cleanliness stakes - at least if the rather pungent odour emanating from the drapes and blankets was anything to go by – containing only a rickety steel-framed bed and cracked porcelain basin, the room was tidy albeit completely bare.

Danny raised his eyebrows comically, if nothing else, just grateful to be able to insert some much needed repartee back into their day.

"Well, seeing as he's not exactly Mr. Personal Hygiene, I can't imagine he'd spend too much time cleaning up in here even if something did go down. My guess is there was never gonna be anything here for us to find."

"Great."

Danny once again eyed his colleague and took a measured breath before continuing. Just because there would clearly be no rewards for levity today did not mean that he wouldn't keep trying.

"True. But at least Jack seemed to be onto something, even if he wasn't in the mood to share. And we still have the rest of _this_ place to have a look around. I noticed some trashcans outside that are just begging for us to go through 'em and I _personally_ can't wait."

Martin's opportunity to respond was interrupted as the door opposite them creaked open. Both agents took a step back as a cautious female face framed by long and impossibly wiry dirty-blonde hair peered through the crack. Before the woman had the opportunity to change her mind and disappear behind the relative safety of the flimsy rotting wood, Danny pulled out his badge and held it swiftly to the gap.

"Hi! FBI. Can we talk to you for a minute?"

There was a distinct hesitation, but a couple of seconds later, the door opened far enough to allow a slim figure to slide out from behind it. Leaning on the doorframe for support, she blearily swiped at her eyes as she looked hesitantly at the two suited figures.

As she did so, Danny further took in her appearance. Perhaps due to the obvious interruption to her sleep, her face was drawn and pale, making her look a good ten years or so older than she probably was. Despite the thick robe she had gathered tightly around her mid-section, he could still see the way her tattered sweatpants were hanging tiredly below her angular hips. From the calluses on her bare feet, it seemed likely that she spent a lot of time on them – plus the fact that she was sleeping in the day. Waitress, perhaps?

Reaching into his coat pocket, he once again produced the photograph of Adam Walker. At this action, the woman looked faintly alarmed. Wrapping the robe more securely around her, she watched the two men suspiciously. Danny, sensing the vulnerability this situation was most probably evoking, smiled casually to reassure her.

"Sorry to disturb you, but we're with the Missing Persons Unit of the FBI. I was wondering if you've seen this guy? He was a guest in this room here," he indicated to the door behind them, "on Monday night."

Nervously, she peered over to take a closer look at the picture being proffered to her. As she did so, Danny caught the rancid scent of ingrained grease which clung to her hair – definitely a waitress. He waited as she studied the image, her eyes becoming sharper as the remnants of sleep seemed to dissipate.

Straightening up, she looked back at them. As her expression became curious, her eyes took on a more animated quality. Danny got the impression that this was fast becoming one of the more exciting events to occur in her day.

"Sure. Yeah, I saw him. Tuesday morning it must've been. I was just coming in off my shift. I work nights at the diner around the corner. The sooner I can save up some cash and get myself out of this hell hole the better, right?"

Danny nodded, mentally congratulating himself on his earlier perceptions. She continued.

"So, yeah… anyway, I was just coming in. My shift ends at eight-thirty, so it was like eight forty-five or something, and I see this guy coming toward me. I remember him 'cause he was acting all strange." She paused. "It was kinda freaky actually."

Torn between amusement at the enthusiasm with which the tale was being recounted, relief over acquiring what was potentially the next part of this puzzle, and concern for the implications that this information held, Danny kept his tone inquiring but neutral.

"_Freaky?_ Freaky how?"

She eyed him thoughtfully.

"It was just weird. I was coming up to the front door, looking for my keys… you know, not really paying much attention or anything, and there he was outside the motel. At first I thought he must've been drunk or high or something, 'cause he was like stumbling, like he couldn't stand up properly. He sorta fell into those crappy looking trees out front, like he was gonna throw up in 'em. But I'm kinda use to that. I can take care of myself and everything, so I went over to him to see if he was okay."

"And did he say anything to you?" Danny dipped his head slightly in earnest.

"Sorta. I mean that was weird too. It's like he was talking to himself and kinda clutching at his head." She mimicked the action for the agents' benefit. "I asked him if he needed help but he just pushed passed me. He kept trying to look at his watch so I told him what time it was but he acted like he didn't even hear me." She paused, adding as an afterthought, "the way he was squinting, I'm not even sure he could even see me. I think he kept saying that he had to be somewhere. It sounded like it was real important to him."

The tension in Danny's tone betrayed the sense of urgency he was suddenly feeling.

"Do you remember anything else?"

The woman frowned as she squeezed the final fragments of the encounter from her memory.

"Yeah, I think I just remembered what he was mumbling." She took a moment before resolutely raising her eyes to meet Danny's awaiting gaze, letting her words sink in. "He kept saying that he wished… that was it… he kept saying that 'God, he wished that it would all just stop'."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**2.50pm**

Standing outside the motel, at the spot where Adam had encountered his fellow guest, Danny halted. As he looked over in the direction of the shrubbery into which their missing person had allegedly stumbled, something caught his eye.

He moved slowly toward it, pulling his coat toward him against the biting wind as he bent down to get a closer look. Moving the withered foliage away, he turned and called to his partner.

"Martin, come here! I think I got something."

**TBC**


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". I make no money from this!

**Chapter Seventeen**

**The "24 Hour Motel", Boston's Southside**

**2.51pm**

The wind beating against his face, Martin turned around to see what Danny had discovered. His partner was crouched down, gingerly parting the branches of the forlorn shrubbery bordering the building's front. Kneeling next to him, he peered into the gap as Danny pulled his coat sleeves over his hand attempting to touch as little of the objects as possible without the benefit of gloves. Martin watched as Danny carefully inspected the items before them – a men's leather wallet and a tarnished cell phone. As he delicately flicked the wallet open, its owner soon became clear. Behind a translucent plastic cover was a credit card clearly embossed with the name 'Mr. A. Walker'.

Pulling out a tissue from his pocket, Martin picked up the battered phone hitting the 'on' button. The screen flashed to life, quickly displaying a message announcing 38 missed calls. Scrolling up the menu to find the time of the first call, it soon appeared the device hadn't been used since around eight on Monday evening.

"Well, whatever happened," Danny mused, "it doesn't look like the guy was mugged." Using a pen he pried open another section of the wallet to reveal a large bundle of cash. "He must've dropped these here Tuesday morning when the waitress saw him. So wherever he is now, he probably doesn't have any ID on him."

Martin nodded soberly, pulling out his own cell phone. "So, we're looking for a John Doe."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**Home of Adam and Laura Walker, Hempstead, NY.**

**2.32pm**

"I don't understand."

Laura Walker tailed bemusedly behind Jack as he stalked contemplatively around her kitchen.

Samantha stood quietly in the doorway, a half-smile dancing briefly across her face, as she watched the man in front of her spring to life. Although it was still only early afternoon, his tie was hanging away from his collar where he'd toyed with it during Adam's message, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His earlier defeat had been replaced with a determination, a sense of purpose in his eyes that she had almost forgotten could exist there. As she allowed herself for a moment to simply study him, she realised what the change was. It was hope.

As Jack spoke, he could feel the urgency edging into his own voice, but seemed powerless to stop it. Although a part of him was aware that he was operating on, at best, a partially informed hunch, the strength of the instinct that had overwhelmed him with Danny's casually spoken words was undeniable. This was Jack Malone at his best, and somewhere, deep down he still knew it.

"Mrs Walker, I appreciate how difficult this must be for you right now. But I really think he might be the one who can help us to understand _why_ your husband is missing."

As the shaken woman continued to regard him with a wary distress, Jack tried one more time to make her understand.

"Mrs Walker, I know you don't want to involve him in any of this, but this is really important. I need to talk to David. I need to talk to your son."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Perched somewhat awkwardly on the edge of the faded X-Men bedspread, Jack looked hesitantly at the fair-haired boy at the other end. Hidden beneath his fashionably loose-fitting pants and an over-sized hooded sweatshirt, David Walker seemed impossibly small, even for a ten year old child. Forcing the unavoidable images of his own daughters to the back of his mind, he smiled as encouragingly as he could manage. Now he was sitting here, surrounded by comic books and sports trophies, Jack began to wonder if he was doing the right thing. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Laura Walker hovering nervously in the doorway. Behind her, it only took a brief glance for him to recognise the hint of worry etched on Sam's face. Although David's mom had explained to him at least some of the reason why the people from the FBI had been around their house for the last two days, it was hard to discern exactly how much the boy understood intuitively. Judging by the troubled expression on his face, Jack surmised that he perhaps understood more than he was being given credit for.

"Look, David, you're not in any kind of trouble, okay?" Jack kept his tone as soft as his gruff demeanour would allow. "It's just that we really want to bring your dad home, and if you can think of anything… something that you might not have told your mom, that might give us a clue to where he is, then you'd really be helping him out. Do you understand?"

David nodded mutely.

Ignoring Laura, who was slowly edging further into the room, Jack leaned a little closer toward the boy. Even to himself, his actions felt perversely as if he were negotiating with a regular hostile witness. He could only imagine what this scene must be doing to David's mother, and again banished thoughts of Kate and Hanna.

Watching his mom's approach, David drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them protectively, one hand playing nervously with the baseball that had rolled toward him at this movement. As he did so, Jack watched Sam step forward and put a soft but restraining hand on Laura's arm. The look she shot her partner was now more questioning than worried, but the sentiment being conveyed was plain. If Jack knew where he was going with this theory, then he better get there quickly.

Briefly catching her eye in acknowledgement, he turned back to David. "Okay…"

"It's my fault."

The admission was so quiet that Jack barely caught it. Although from the gasp on the other side of the room, it was obvious that the message had come through clearly enough. As his mind processed the near inaudible confession, Jack was once again aware that Sam's hand was still lightly grasping Laura's arm, buying him enough time to form a response. He looked gently at the shrunken figure before him. When he spoke, his voice was barely louder than the boy's.

"What's your fault?"

For the first time since the three of them had entered, David raised his head. As he did so, he looked first directly at Jack before turning sorrowfully to meet his mother's eyes. Seeing the tears that had started to form there, he turned his attention back to the agent on his bed. His face was set in resignation, but his chin was jutted out in determination.

"It's my fault he got so mad at me. If I hadn't made him angry, he wouldn't have had to leave."

At this statement, Laura rushed forward to her child. This time Sam made no attempt to stop her. Instead, she let her focus move to Jack. Whilst Laura knelt emotionally in front of her stoic son, Jack looked on. His expression was focused but contemplative, as if his mind was slowly filling in the blanks as he detachedly watched the scene play out. Yet the sorrow, however fleeting, that she observed in his eyes, betrayed his calm professionalism.

"What did he get mad about?"

Despite the understanding tone beneath the question, Laura Walker turned sharply towards her son's interrogator. However, before she could voice her anxiety, her son's voice broke the tense silence that had fallen over the room.

"_Me_. He got mad at me."

Laura turned helplessly back to David who was absently passing the baseball from hand to hand. As if needing no further confirmation of his mom's feelings, David sought out Jack's eyes with his own. Holding his gaze, Jack nodded solemnly but reassuringly in a tacit understanding. Laura opened her mouth to intervene only to be silenced by her son.

"Mom!" His eyes never left Jack.

Seemingly at a loss to process this latest turn of events, Laura pushed herself shakily to her feet, as David continued resolutely.

"It was on Sunday at my soccer game. I got into a fight with this kid and I know I shouldn't have hit him but he was being mean and it just made me really angry so we started fighting 'til his coach stopped us… but my dad… I don't know, he saw the fight and coach said something to him and … it just… he was really mad… and I tried to say I was sorry and I didn't mean it, but he… he wouldn't even talk to me and…," his voice hitching, David turned to Laura. "And then before I went to sleep dad came into my room and he said he was sorry and that it was going to be okay and that he was going to sort everything out and…"

Her breath catching in her throat, Laura Walker turned to Jack as she put her arm protectively around her son. Her voice was tight but firm.

"I think we can continue this discussion elsewhere, don't you?"

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**3.14pm**

"Oh God. How did I not see this? How did I not notice what was happening?"

Now back in the living room, Jack regarded the women opposite him compassionately. However, the words of comfort he knew he should offer were just beyond his reach. After relenting to let Samantha keep a sympathetic eye on David, Laura had calmly accompanied the other agent from her son's room before sinking down into her familiar chair, her head in her hands.

Jack waited patiently for her to compose herself. When she finally looked up at him there was a new desperation in her expression.

"I knew something had happened at that soccer game. I knew it." She took a breath to steady herself. "They were both acting so strangely when they came home. But neither of them said anything to me so I just thought I'd let them sort it out for themselves, you know? And then when Adam volunteered to go make sure David was in bed, I just assumed they'd patched things up. I should have realised that this was different…"

"Mrs Walker," Jack interjected cautiously, "how long has your husband had concerns about…"

Allowing his question to tail off, Jack followed Laura's eyes as they drifted back to the family photos displayed all around them. Feeling that his presence was suddenly inconsequential, he fell silent as Laura began speaking, as though addressing the frozen images of her family.

"I really thought that he'd gotten past this."

Jack watched silently as she rose from her seat and wandered over to the pictures, fingering them almost reverently.

"We talked about all this before David was born. Adam was devastated when his mom told him about his dad being sick, but we discussed this. We both knew about the genetic implications, I even had one of my colleagues talk to us about it. He knows that just because his father had an illness, doesn't mean that he will have, or that David will." Her hand traced the outline of the photograph. "We've been through all this before."

Still absorbed in the memories, she continued as Jack listened solemnly, her attention fixed on the framed image of Adam, David and the dirty soccer ball. "The first time it happened, David couldn't have been more than five or six. I remember, because it was just after I'd gone back to working a full week at the clinic. They'd gone camping for the weekend and when they came back, Adam was acting really strange. When I finally got him to tell me what was wrong, he started saying that David was 'exhibiting symptoms'. When I asked him what he meant, it turned out that he'd been reading up about the disease." She sighed, once again reaching for the picture. "I tried to tell him that David was just a kid, and he was gonna act out sometimes. He was adjusting to my returning to work, and Adam had been putting in long hours at the firm, and he just wanted some more attention. We gave it to him and everything was fine. But then every time he got in a bad mood and didn't want to eat his dinner, or if he didn't sleep well, or didn't do as he was told right away, Adam took it as this _sign_. I tried to explain to him that diagnosing something as extreme as bi-polar in kids David's age is far from an exact science, but for a while it was like he just couldn't let it go. Eventually I got another doctor from my clinic to talk to us, and it seemed to reassure him. Sure David had a bit of a temper and he could have mood swings, but it was never that extreme. It really did seem that it was more than likely he was worrying about nothing." She paused momentarily. "I know it didn't make the whole thing disappear, but I think it at least convinced him that it was as much my responsibility as it was his." Reluctantly withdrawing her hand from the photographs, she took a breath. "If he was still so worried about David, I just don't understand why he wouldn't talk to me about it first before running off and…"

Jack's voice startled her out of her reverie.

"So, it's quite possible that Adam went all the way to Boston, specifically to see Dr. Crawforth, because he was concerned about your son? Only he never made it to the appointment. We can assume that he chose Dr. Crawforth because he was familiar with her reputation from the time you both spent in Boston. But you never thought that…"

Sensing the agent's reluctance to broach the only question that now had any real significance, Laura Walker rubbed her eyes offering up a tired smile. As she appraised Jack, her response was not without irony.

"Why don't you just ask me what you really need to ask me?" She sighed. "Is my son crazy, or is it my husband?"

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**Boston Medical Center**

**3.35pm**

"He was brought in unconscious by the EMTs on Tuesday morning at around nine fifteen am," the doctor instructed rapidly as Martin and Danny hurried after him down the maze of corridors to the more secluded area of the hospital. Following him through yet another set of swing doors, Danny once again had the photograph of Adam Walker in his hand, looking briefly at it as he entered the room. As they viewed the figure before them, the agents exchanged glances.

"It's him," Danny nodded in confirmation at the doctor.

The doctor smiled courteously. "I can go through the details with you now, if you'd like."

"We'd appreciate that," responded Martin quietly.

Again Danny nodded. "Our boss is with the family in New York. We'll need to call him with the news."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**Home of Adam and Laura Walker, Hempstead, NY.**

**3.45pm**

The ringing of Jack's cell phone had drawn Samantha from her watch-station in David Walker's bedroom, back to the living room. As she entered, a heavy silence, oblivious to the ringing phone, suffocated the room. Laura Walker was leaning against the mantle, a photograph held absently against her chest, but her eyes were fixed on the male agent. Observing Jack's body language, Sam could tell that her concerns about his emotional investment in this case would not be going away any time soon.

After a beat, Jack grudgingly checked the caller ID. "Danny?" he grunted into the phone.

Sam watched silently as Jack's demeanour relayed to her the nature of their colleague's news. Turning slightly away from Laura, he kept his responses minimal. After a couple of minutes of mumbled agreements, he finally spoke. His voice was low and reverberated solemnly around the room.

"Thanks, Danny. Okay, you two may as well catch a flight home tonight." He sighed. "Yeah, I'll take care of it."

Instinctively catching Sam's eye as he ended the call, Jack turned back to Laura. Although she resolvedly held his gaze, her face was ashen and the hand which now held the photograph to her side was trembling. Not wanting to prolong the moment unnecessarily, Jack took a breath.

"Mrs Walker, that was my agent in Boston. Your husband was discovered collapsed on the street on Tuesday morning." He watched as her free hand fumbled before gripping onto the ledge behind her, before he hurriedly elaborated. "He's in the ICU at Boston Medical Center." Seeking out a reaction, Jack continued. "He was unconscious when he was admitted and had no form of ID on him at the time, so until just now he was listed as unidentified." As Laura stared at him, fighting for comprehension, he saw the silent question appearing in her eyes and nodded understandingly. "I'll arrange a flight for you and David myself." Maintaining eye contact, he added a final remark so softly that Sam had to strain in order to hear him.

"It might be best if you flew out this afternoon."

**TBC**

**A/N:** Woohoo, only two more chapters to go – hopefully:)


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". I make no money from this!

**A/N:** Okay, so I lied last time when I said there were only two more chapters to go. Due mostly to length, I've now broken this part down into two separate chapters. The next one is almost done and should be up in a day or so – hopefully. Thanks, as always, to Newlands for her suggestions and for encouraging me to improve this, even when I seem a little reluctant. :) Sorry, again, about the wait.

**Chapter Eighteen**

**9.10pm**

"Well, it's been fun. We should do it again sometime."

Climbing indelicately out of the battered cab, Martin turned to glare at his grinning partner. He was well aware that he hadn't been in the best of moods for the duration of their trip. Ordinarily he welcomed Danny's light-hearted banter, but over the last 24 hours it had been wearing increasingly thin. In spite of this, he still appreciated the effort his colleague had made to alleviate the atmosphere - even if he was in no mood to indulge him. The source of his irritation wasn't exactly a great mystery to anyone and he was mostly grateful that his partner hadn't pushed the matter. As he reached in to grab the travel bag being handed to him, he noted that Danny's smile had become noticeably sympathetic. Sighing, he slung his bag over his shoulder, forcing himself to offer a friendly acknowledgement as the vehicle pulled away.

His key poised in his hand, Martin wearily trudged up the steps to the building's un-manned door glad, if nothing else, to be finally getting out of the cold. Exhausted, and willing this day to be over even more than he'd gotten the impression Danny had been, all he wanted to do was collapse on his couch, switch the TV on and his mind off. It had been a long day - there was no disputing that – and as he let himself into his deserted apartment he briefly allowed the images of Adam Walker's prone body lying unconscious in his ICU bed to flood his brain. This figure all too quickly merged with the smiling, happy family photos of the same man that he'd seen the previous day, and as his mind drifted to the tearful, hopeful wife, he involuntarily shook his head to displace the rest of these thoughts. They may have found their missing person alive, but he wasn't entirely sure if that would prove to be any lasting consolation for his family.

Fumbling in the dark for the light switch, he dumped his bag unceremoniously on the floor - idly wondering what it meant that after two years of living in this place, its intimate details were still so unfamiliar to him. That problem solved, he shrugged off his coat leaving it splayed over the bag. As he headed into his un-stocked kitchenette still littered with the remnants of old take-out, he noticed the angry blinking light of his answer-machine. A heavy feeling in his gut, he hit the play button, simultaneously swinging open the refrigerator door and grabbing the conveniently placed bottle of beer that he knew Samantha would have left there. Never knowing when they were going to hit a particularly rough case, she rarely let her supply run dry.

As the beep of the machine echoed around the room, he cracked open his drink waiting for the familiar message. Another case closed, another questionably satisfactory result and, of course, a sure-fire way to take their minds off any number of things which never quite bore thinking about. Seven months down the line and this whole exercise had taken on a ritualistic inevitability. Ignoring the bubbles that had formed at the bottle's lip, he took a long swig as Sam's voice filled his apartment.

"Hey, it's me." There was a short hesitation. The discomfort behind it was slight but sadly familiar. "I'm sorry I couldn't come get you guys from the airport. But, I'm… er… nearly done here so I'll stop by your apartment around nine, maybe?" There was another pause, as if something had distracted her, or perhaps someone? It was obvious in the otherwise silent apartment that her voice had suddenly become more hushed. "So I just… I'll see you later, okay?"

The machine clicked off and Martin set his bottle down on the counter, sweeping the empty food cartons into the trashcan below. The digital clock on the counter was already showing nine-fifteen. What exactly was she finishing up at the office that could take so long? Adam Walker had been found. The case was technically closed. The reports shouldn't take _that _long. He took a breath. He wasn't going to let himself get more paranoid. Maybe she stopped by earlier – before he got home? But if that was the case, why didn't she just use the key he'd had cut for her a couple of months earlier, 'just in case'? Of course if she had, that would be a first. The gesture hadn't exactly been greeted with the enthusiasm he'd hoped for. In fact, after a moment of uncomfortable silence, she'd slipped the object quietly into her pocket, never to be mentioned again – by either of them. With a sigh, he turned his attention back to the immediate situation. Ever the boy-scout, he grabbed himself a second drink in anticipation that the first one would soon be drained, and headed for the couch.

Pushing aside a battered paperback, its bookmark hanging haphazardly out the top, he smiled mirthlessly. It seemed somewhat fitting that one of the few personal items that Samantha deemed acceptable to leave lying around his home was yet another means of ensuring that the two of them had little need for actual conversation. But then judging by the way their last couple of conversations had gone, it would appear that this might not be such a bad thing after all. Raising his bottle once again, he savoured the fizzy after-taste of the cheap beer which he would never have thought to purchase for himself. Staring absently at his front door, he briefly checked his watch. Noting that another five minutes had since passed, he quickly drained the rest of his drink, exchanging the empty bottle for the full one.

Although rationally he knew that nothing had really changed in the past twenty-four hours, Martin could not shake the feeling that a seismic shift had taken place. He just hadn't quite realised it at the time. Now back in the privacy of his own space, it was as if all his thoughts from the past day were converging to this one specific point. In their line of work, as had been proved today, sometimes all it took to crack a case wide open would be the smallest, seemingly most insignificant, piece of information. It was becoming increasingly apparent that the same thing could also be said of _his_ current situation. All the little hints and clues, that to a dispassionate observer would seem unimportant, had suddenly and abruptly been thrown into context and, looking around his apartment, he wondered whether in this particular case it was the disturbing _lack_ of evidence that was exacerbating his doubts over his relationship with Samantha.

Aside from the novel sitting next to him tauntingly, a second tooth brush and a bottle of conditioner in his bathroom, and of course the beer in his kitchen, there was little indication that anyone except himself spent any meaningful amount of time here. True, more often than not, they seemed to end up at her place – although he'd often wondered just where _that_ habit came from. But over the past few months more and more of his everyday personal belongings had gradually found their way to her apartment – first it was just some toiletries, followed closely by a clean shirt, and a pressed suit. There was a CD here and there, a spare pair of running shoes, and even some junk mail that he'd picked up in haste as he was on his way over. All the natural accoutrements of a growing relationship were scattered around her living space without ever seeming to quite fit comfortably in it. Yet here she'd rarely left so much as a change of clothes. It was as if she'd never really been here. And thinking about it now, maybe she hadn't.

"_We'll talk later, okay?"_

'Yes, I think it's about time we did', he thought to himself.

His second drink quickly heading the way of its predecessor, Martin forced himself to recall his words in the bullpen the previous day. Yet another conciliatory move on his part, it was quite a pattern they'd established. Another awkward question evaded, another difficult topic avoided and, as always, he'd shown her it was _okay_. She didn't have to be honest with him, and by continually letting it slide, he was proving to himself that in return, he didn't have to be entirely honest with her. After all, where was honesty really going to get them?

"_You, Danny, at large in a new city, it might be fun."_

_Perched on the edge of the conference table, Martin watched Samantha sceptically. Her elbows casually resting beside her files, her chin cupped in her hands looking up at him, in any other situation he would have enjoyed the playful suggestiveness of her posture. Yet something was stopping him. It wasn't just the residual anger he could still feel bubbling inside him over Jack's dismissal of him in the meeting just minutes before. It wasn't even the fact that unbeknownst to Samantha, he could clearly see Jack watching their conversation from the indiscreet cover of his glass-walled office. It was more to do with the forced lightness in her tone, the guardedness in her eyes and the determination with which she was refusing to acknowledge the tension which had sent their colleagues running for cover._

"_It's like, what, a forty-five minute flight? Hell, it's taken me longer than that to drive five blocks in traffic."_

_Her attempt at a joke fell flat as an uncomfortable silence descended. Sensing an impasse had been reached, Martin felt compelled to break it. Yet despite his best efforts, he was having some difficulty reining in his latent irritation. _

"_Well I just think it's been made pretty clear that my time… or rather my opinions aren't all that important right now."_

_Leaning forward a fraction, he watched closely for a reaction to these words. A slight flicker across her eyes told him she was processing his statement. But the softness with which she finally replied informed him that she had made a decision to take it purely at face value. _

"_He's still our boss, Martin."_

_The neutrality of her response made him want to scream. How long could he do this for? He was sick of talking in riddles, of being in this permanent state of truce, of not being free to say what he really wanted to say. Her propensity for deflecting such discussions was so controlled, he was starting to believe it was reflexive. Glancing once again at the office behind her, he opened his mouth to speak, but something about her expression silenced him. Only when he heard her exhale quietly, did he realise that she'd been holding her breath the entire time. _

_Both sensing that something more than they were acknowledging had just transpired they held eye contact for several seconds until they saw Danny cautiously approaching them. Samantha stood abruptly and waved him over. Martin noted that her cheerfulness was forced but assuaging nonetheless. _

"_How about I drive you boys to the airport?"_

Setting aside the second empty drink, Martin pushed himself up off the couch, gathering both bottles and depositing them on the now empty kitchen counter. Reaching into the cupboard above him, he retrieved a glass tumbler, setting it decisively next to them. After checking his watch again, he dropped a couple of pieces of ice into the bottom of the container before going in search of something a little stronger than beer. Finding, to his relief, a half-empty bottle of JD stashed under his sink, he unscrewed the top and poured a healthy measure. It wasn't his intention to get drunk so much, but there was nothing like a bit of false-courage in situations such as these. Following that line of thought, he considerately placed a second tumbler next to the open bottle.

Again looking around his apartment, he was struck by the fact that within it there was not a single picture of himself and Samantha - more missing evidence to add to the growing list. But then in order for someone to take their picture, it would require for someone, other than their colleagues, to actually know about their relationship. It was ironic really, that the people who Sam seemed most desperate to hide from, were probably the only ones who were in any position to know, or to care. Raising his glass to his lips, he shook his head slightly. As he felt the liquid warming its way down his throat, his eyes scanned his surroundings once more. They drifted back to the innocent novel on the couch and his mind hit upon an important distinction. Samantha had not left one _single_ shred of evidence in this apartment that held any emotional significance to either of them. He smoothly swallowed the rest of his drink.

Checking his watch for the third time, he realised that it was now nine forty-five. Pulling out his cell, he briefly considered calling her before tossing it resignedly onto a chair behind him. Why rock the boat? Pouring himself another helping, a bitter smile played across his face when he realised it was exactly what he'd been expecting. He might have had a couple more drinks than he was planning, but it didn't take a genius to figure out where she was, or who she was with. There was only one person who had that much control over her, and it had really never been any other way. In all the time he'd spent with Sam over the last few months, he could barely recall an occasion, outside of the bedroom that is, which had called for an ounce of emotional intensity. Hell, they couldn't even have a decent argument. As he placed his drink back on the counter, a little harder than he intended, he realised that someone was knocking gently on his door.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**9.44pm**

Mounting the deserted stairway up to Martin's apartment, Samantha felt a distinct sense of foreboding. For a start, she was well aware that she was running late. That in itself would not normally concern her too much, if not for the fact that they both knew exactly where she'd been - and who she'd been there with.

The false sense of purpose provided by the steady rhythm of her boot heels on the concrete did little to calm her nerves. Reaching a stairwell, she stopped for a moment, leaning heavily against the wall. Damn it, she'd only been at the office. Why should she feel so _guilty_ about it? It's not as if this was a new issue. It was only a problem if she made it a problem. If the last six months had taught her anything, then that was undoubtedly it. If she had to be a victim of _something_, it was going to be of her _own_ choices. She groaned inwardly. This was so screwed up.

Her last conversation alone with Martin hadn't been an overwhelming success. His resentment from the meeting had spilled over and he had made little attempt to conceal it. It hadn't escaped her attention, that during the twenty-four hours he'd been out of the city, she hadn't received so much as a phone call from him, even regarding the case. It was true that she may not have given them much room for discussion before he left, but she really couldn't afford to let him pull this crap when they were at work. She groaned quietly. How had their personal issues become so irrevocably entwined with their ability to focus solely on their professional responsibilities? How had she let this get so far?

But then, she wasn't exactly the only one at fault here. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, unrelated to the icy touch of the bricks she rested against. What were they all doing? She'd endeavoured to make light of Jack's decision to send Martin and Danny to Boston but, in truth, she had found herself relieved - and not just because it gave her a temporary respite from her immediate problem. The unavoidable truth was, that if she'd been playing back _any_ conversation from the previous day in her head, it was not the one she'd had with Martin. The words she couldn't free from her mind were spoken in a darkened office later that same evening, and for whatever reason, she couldn't seem to let them go.

"_I don't owe you an explanation…… So, why do I feel like I do?"_

Jack.

Letting her head rest against the cold wall, she momentarily closed her eyes. How could she even begin to process her feelings towards Jack? They'd become such an integral part of her, that just thinking about them was exhausting – assuming she _allowed_ herself to think, of course. She'd devoted so much time and energy these last few months to banishing such thoughts from her mind. But here she was allowing them to creep back in.

"_I'm not going to say that I hope you two will be very happy together."_

Slipping easily into the memory, Sam let Jack's words wash over her. His voice had been so gentle, so _honest_ as he'd spoken, that she'd responded without hesitation.

"_I'd be disappointed if you did."_

She turned her thoughts to the man she assumed was now waiting for her upstairs. He hadn't said it explicitly - yet. But it was obvious from the brief moments he'd witnessed, that Martin had sensed the return of the unspoken familiarity between her and Jack. She knew he'd been watching when the two of them arrived in the bullpen the previous afternoon. Yet her almost intuitive reactions to Jack's presence seemed beyond her control. And if Jack's behaviour toward her over the last couple of days was any indication, she wasn't the only one feeling the conflict.

Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes. Her gaze falling involuntarily on the blinking 'emergency exit' sign in front of her, she fought the urge to close them again. Instead she covered them with her palms.

If she was brutally honest with herself, again something she'd been avoiding recently, paperwork wasn't the only reason that she had found it so difficult leaving the office this evening. Jack had barely spoken a word since they had finally left the Walker's house in the late afternoon. The drive back to the city had been conducted in virtual silence and unsure as what she should say, she'd thought it best to leave Jack to his own thoughts. Something about this case had hit him harder than anyone else seemed to realise. And her instincts told her that he wasn't quite ready to discuss it further. Returning to the bullpen, he'd retreated quietly to his office, the only evidence of his presence being the steady glow of his lamp through the blinds. Every now and then she thought she'd seen the shutters flicker, as she sensed his eyes upon her. Yet the glass partition had remained between them. As she'd lingered on her reports, she'd lulled herself into the belief that he was accepting her unnecessary presence as a silent show of comfort – unwilling to acknowledge that, just as desperately, a part of her needed to know that he was okay.

Abruptly, she shook the images from her mind. This had to stop.

In a defiant movement, she pushed herself determinedly away from her resting place. She had somewhere to be. She'd made her decision back when all this started. This was the _right_ thing to do. _Martin_ was the right thing to do. So why was she suddenly so reluctant? Anyone could see that this was a _good_ thing for her – according to Danny, at least. She didn't have to worry about Jack finding out anymore – another good thing, right? So what was stopping her?

Digging her numb hands in her coat pocket as she climbed the final steps, she was served with a sharp reminder when her thumb hit a metal edge. As she pulled the offending item out, it glinted at her in the sharp fluorescent lighting – it was a singular key. Mesmerized for a moment by the artificial light dancing off it, she studied the object with a guarded fascination. But as she turned it over in her palm, she was hit by an unsettling wave of clarity. The sense of dread she was suddenly feeling, had little to do with her own actions. There was a reason why she'd been grateful to have caught Martin's answer machine earlier that evening, and a reason why she knew he wouldn't bother to call her back. She'd seen it in his eyes the previous day. For the first time, he was challenging her. Although it was fair to say at this point, that neither of them knew exactly how she would deal with this new, unpredictable development.

Sighing resignedly, she slipped the key back into her pocket and reluctantly raised her hand to the door.

**TBC**


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". I make no money from this!

**Chapter Nineteen**

**9.45pm**

"Hey."

As the apartment door swung open, Sam's casual greeting hung in the air between them. Her neutral smile remained fixed on her face as she took in Martin's equally unreadable expression. Realising she had nothing else to add, she forced herself to catch his eye. Breaking the contact, he nodded at her imperceptibly before silently stepping back to let her inside. Allowing herself to glance at him briefly as she did so, she took his cue moving wordlessly past him.

Beginning to read the situation, Sam steeled herself. Her fears about coming here tonight quickly being confirmed, she had a growing feeling that this time feigning innocence would no longer be enough. Unfortunately, it seemed to be the only thing she knew how to do. When she finally broke the silence, even to her own ears, her voice sounded strangely detached.

"I'm sorry I'm late. Reports, you know?"

"I know." There was a distinct lack emotion in his tone.

"Rough day, huh?"

Her pacifying gesture was ignored.

Shifting her weight uncomfortably, Sam eyed the couch. It had been a long day for all involved. She'd barely slept, her feet were beginning to ache and this conversation was already draining the last remnants of energy that had got her this far. Her body was screaming at her to just go and sit down, but her mind was calculating what the hidden implications of this action might be. With a hesitant glance, she cautiously slid further into the room, choosing instead to lower herself onto the single seat closest to her whilst placing her bag on the floor beside her.

Martin watched her without comment. She was still wearing her coat, he noticed.

"It must've been tough," she offered sympathetically, not seeking out his eyes, "finding Adam like that."

Martin shrugged. "Isn't it always?"

Ignoring his dismissal, she continued slowly. "Laura Walker was pretty devastated. We were at the house when Danny called." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "It was definitely intense."

"I'm sure Jack handled it." His tenor was congenial but a dangerous undertone was evident.

Struggling to keep her own voice even, she nodded. "He did."

Against her better judgement, she felt strangely compelled to prolong the conversation. As if the pretence of normalcy would somehow be enough to fool them both back into complacency.

"It was a lucky break finding that witness at the motel. I don't think his wife would've been able to cope if we'd had to tell her he'd just left."

His response was measured. "Well some people just have to manage, don't they?"

Mystified by the detachment in her own voice, Sam was struggling to comprehend exactly why it was that she was still talking. The disquieting sensation spreading slowly from her stomach to her chest told her that this was fast becoming the one situation she had been working so tirelessly to avoid. Yet for a reason she was still attempting to grasp, she could feel an icy calm settling over her.

Registering little reaction, she shrugged. "At least she has something to hold onto."

Martin's eyes met hers. "Hmmm. That must be nice." There was a long pause. He was still watching her. "So," he let out on a long breath, "you sure had a lot of reports to finish." He indicated the clock. "The boss must've really twisted your arm, huh?"

Sam felt her spine stiffen. She knew that Martin was deliberately pushing her. They'd been here before. And he always seemed to know exactly what buttons to press. It was just another game they couldn't help but play. Just as she'd convince herself she finally had her balance, he'd push forward a little. There would be a deceptively innocent suggestion or just a look in his eyes – the look caught in that precarious limbo between hurt and resentment. Her ever-present guilt would be just enough to keep her from running, but it also guaranteed the retreat she would find herself making. She knew, from past experience, that all she had to do was take that small step back and the status quo would be restored. Sometimes this step took the form of a gesture, a word, a hint that one day she would be capable of giving him what he seemed to want from her. Other times it was a practised evasiveness which forced him to make his own retreat. But this time, as they both seemed to be acutely aware, their centre had shifted. He was backing her into a corner. And it looked as though the only way out was for her to finally make her choice.

"I had some things to take care of," she finally managed.

"I'm sure you did."

After this last comment, Martin stood mutely. The tension in the air between them was palpable. The only sounds in the room came from the minimal traffic on the street below.

Breaking the silence, Sam sat up straighter. Her expression was casual, but her nails, digging painfully into the underside of the chairs mottled fabric, belied her measured calm. Forcing herself to take an imperceptible breath, she allowed her fingertips to trace the soothing pattern of the upholstery.

"I wasn't sure what time you'd be back." She looked up at him. His accusatory tone was becoming harder to ignore and she struggled to remain impassive. "I didn't want to get here before you."

"You could've let yourself in." Martin lifted his own head to meet her gaze. For a split second, Sam's questioning expression betrayed her. But he noticed her blank mask slipping quickly back into place. A beat passed. "Sorry, I forgot I'm not meant to talk about that."

The undisguised harshness in his voice caused Sam to turn away, unprepared for such a direct blow so early on. As she attempted to buy herself some time, her attention fell on the items adorning the kitchen counter and a realisation set in. "You've been drinking," she noted softly.

Martin heard a hint of reproach in the words. Or was it more disappointment? He smiled humourlessly, indicating the second glass. "Don't worry. I left you some."

She looked back at him. "That's probably not a good idea."

"Why not? After all, it's how all this started, isn't it?" His hand gestured dismissively between the two of them.

Painfully meeting his eyes, Sam was aware of her defences beginning to crumble. His voice dripped with a scathing bitterness but the genuine hurt that flashed across his face as he had spoken made her heart constrict. How the hell had she let things get this far? How had she done this? To all of them? She cared for Martin. She really did. She'd tried. She really had. But she couldn't do this. Not like this. She stared, motionless. Martin mirrored her action. The two of them trapped in their own private stalemate. The sound of her pulse in her ears, Sam felt the unnerving sensation that the apartment walls were inexplicably closing in on her. Her fingernails once again found the battered cushion. She couldn't let herself fall apart now. She wouldn't. She had to get out of here.

"I don't know why I came here," she muttered breathlessly, averting her eyes. Pushing herself out of the seat she made toward the door, but Martin was standing in front of it, staring her down almost aggressively. She still refused to look. As she brushed past him his voice filled the room.

"Well, seeing as you obviously didn't come for your usual reason, maybe you _should_ leave. Because I'm not sure I know how to help you with anything else."

Turning in disbelief, Sam regarded the stranger before her. His back was still turned. The sense of barely-concealed numbness had been her shield for so long that she scarcely recognised these feelings that seemed to be fighting their way to the surface all at once. When her voice broke, she was unsure whether it was more out of frustration, anger or just regret.

"God, Martin. If there's something you want to say, won't you just damn well come out and say it?"

Martin whirled around to face her. His shirt was hanging haphazardly out of the top his pants and his face was flushed from the combination of alcohol and barely contained emotion. He knew he was running purely on adrenaline but as he gave into the welcomed sense of release rushing through him, he also knew he didn't much care. His eyes were glued on Sam as he realised for probably the first time since this whole thing began, he had her fullest attention.

Making a conscious decision to give himself over completely to this new found freedom he felt his mouth twisting into a sneer. "Don't _you_ have something you need to say to _me_?"

Feeling the steady stream of carefully suppressed emotions searing themselves indelibly into her conscience, Sam flinched. Her head snapped up to meet Martin's.

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on, Sam." He taunted her. "Reports?" He snorted incredulously. "Please."

"What?" Samantha watched him, her voice reflecting her expression, caught between shock and disbelief. "You think there's something going on between Jack and I?"

Another humourless smile played on Martin's lips. "It wouldn't exactly be the first time."

Hoisting her bag onto her shoulder, she once again turned toward the door. "I am _not_ having this conversation."

Martin sighed theatrically. "That's right. Run away," he almost sang. "Why should this time be any different, right? There's no relationship in the world that you can't just get up and walk out on." He laughed bitterly. "Oh, wait a minute. We both know that's not quite true."

"Oh, grow up, Martin." She didn't bother to turn around. "Call me when you sober up."

"Is that what you used to say to _Jack_?"

Her fingers clenched around the strap over her shoulder as she slowly turned to face him. Her expression was frozen.

"Oh, please." Her voice was low but her eyes flashed dangerously. "Do _not_ go acting all pure and innocent with me now. You knew what the deal was when you got into this. I never hid _anything_ from you."

Martin studied her with a forced casualness. His body swayed slightly and he set a hand down on the counter to steady himself.

"Yeah, but it was a little bit late by then, wasn't it? I was just the last to know, huh?" A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "Hey, maybe we should just go ahead and have another OPR investigation. Isn't that how your relationships usually end?" The laughter was replaced by a smirk. "But then this was hardly a relationship, was it?"

"Well that's funny. 'Cause I didn't exactly hear you complaining in the bedroom."

The reply escaped before she could prevent it and she stopped, as if assessing the damage. But Martin had barely flinched.

"Well, I had to be getting something out of this, right?"

Sam's face contorted but her tone was surprisingly civil. "Go to hell, Martin."

Still meeting her eyes, he raised his free hand in mock apology. "Hey, what's the problem? I thought you liked guys who treated you like crap?"

"I… I…"

"No." His utterance was firm but rang of despair. "No. We are _going_ to talk about this."

Although clearly trying to compose herself, Sam was visibly struggling to contain her emotions. Martin watched her, attempting to quell the sympathy for her that he could already feel returning. He _had_ to do this. He needed some answers. He _deserved_ some answers. The anger drained from his tone leaving only the sadness haunting his words.

"Just explain it to me, Sam. Please?" He could no longer hide the despair which was etched on his face. "Just tell me what I have to do to measure up." His eyes beseeched her. "'Cause I just don't get it."

Sam waited, trapped. Her carefully constructed walls were being torn down before her eyes, and it seemed she was left with no choice but to stand and watch.

His sorrow combining with his frustration, Martin's voice grew louder but lost none of its anguish. "Do you think I'm blind? Do you think I can't see the way you react when he's around? Do you think I don't notice the two of you staring at each other when you think nobody else is looking?" He shrugged helplessly. "Tell me what I have to do to make you look at _me_ like that?"

Sam attempted a response, but no words came. Her silence was deafening to herself and it only seemed to antagonise Martin further. Noting the vein beginning to pulse in his neck, she braced herself for the onslaught she sensed was coming.

"What?" His voice hovered unsteadily in an uneasy mix of anger and desolation. "Maybe you'd have preferred it if I'd left you all alone in your bed after our times together." He paused. "Ooh. How about if I announced in front of our colleagues that I was leaving you for a new life, huh?" Bitterness seemed to have replaced his despondency. He emitted a slight chuckle. "But then somehow I don't think you'd be shedding tears for me if I walked into the office tomorrow and announced I was up and moving to a different city." Still he garnered no reply. The volume of his voice increased further. "Just tell me what I have to do, Sam. Because, if that's what you want, then I can do _all_ of those things. After all, it doesn't exactly sound like a big commitment on my part."

The room was still.

"Oh, oh, I know! Why don't I just toss a chair through the window just for the hell of it?" Pushing himself away from the counter, he took a step forward. "How about that, huh?" Their faces were only inches apart but neither of them moved. "Maybe that'll make me into the kind of guy that you obviously want _so badly_."

Sam stared at him defiantly and Martin felt the last remnants of control slip from his grasp. He barely recognised the words falling from his mouth as his own but he seemed to have no inclination to hold them back. His voice was cold and eerily calculated.

"Oh, that's right I forgot. _Nobody_ touches your _precious_ Jack Malone. You'll have to forgive my manners. I've not actually done this before."

Sam's face visibly blanched but, as Martin continued, her expression gave nothing away.

"What? Nothing to say?" He paused challengingly. "You're not going to try and convince me that it has nothing to do with some screwed up _daddy_ complex. Or maybe you just find the whole _authority_ thing a turn on. Come on, I'm _dying_ to know what his secret is. Surely he's not _still_ your 'white knight', is he? Your _hero_?" His tone was almost jeering. "Oh, I've got it. Maybe, just maybe, it's 'cause you know, he's the only person you could be with, who's more screwed up than _you_ are."

As the tirade came to an end, the sound of uneven breathing filled the room. Although both were unsure just whose breath they could hear.

"Why are you doing this?" Sam's voice was suddenly small.

Somewhere in the rational part of his mind, Martin realised that at some point in the last few moments a line had been irrevocably crossed. Through the haze, he registered Sam's shoulders trembling through her heavy coat and the haunted look in her eyes. Yet still he couldn't bring himself to stop. His own rage was suddenly replaced with the pain that he'd been trying so hard to fight. As the emotion stole back into his voice, he sounded almost melancholy. He was dimly aware that his expression probably matched hers.

He sighed deeply. "I guess I'm just sick of being your second choice." There was a beat. "But then you never really bothered to hide it, did you?"

Despite her rising anger, Sam began to feel tears trailing down her cheeks. Frustrated that she was allowing her emotions to show like this, she frantically brushed them away with the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry," she whispered painfully.

Martin watched her every move, a fresh glimmer of resentment appearing in his eyes. A new spurt of rage flared up. "Oh, so it's okay for you to cry when it's all about Jack? But any other time and you're just being _weak_?"

"Martin." It was almost a plea.

"No." He stopped firmly. "I want to know what makes him so god damn special."

She stared at him mutely, willing the tears into submission.

"Okay, well you're not going to answer that one. I should probably have learned that by now. So, let's see. What else is there?"

He paused, for the sheer purpose of dramatic effect. Sam waited apprehensively. There was no backing out now.

"Oh, yeah. Here's a good one. Why me?" His eyes never left hers. "Was I just convenient? A sure thing? Just some poor innocent little rich boy who you figured would go along without asking any of those awkward questions?" His gaze was challenging. "'Cause I have to hand it to you. It looks like you had me pegged." He raised his eyebrows questioningly. "But then it's not like I really did anything to stop you, did I? I did _exactly_ what you expected me to. I toed the line. I kept my mouth shut." She remained silent. "So, what am I? Tell me. Just some sort of practise run? Biding your time until you can finally live out your little fantasy for real?"

Recovering her speech, Sam took a breath. "You think this was all just some _experiment_ in domestication for me?" Her words dripped with genuine incredulity.

He laughed harshly. "That's right. I forgot. You're Samantha Spade. You don't _commit_. You don't want what 'all the other girls' want. You know, I tried. I tried to be that person who could just _be_ with you. I really hoped I could do it, and that it would be enough, for both of us. But I guess I was wrong, huh? I just don't know what you want, Sam. I'm not even sure that you do. But it seems obvious enough to everyone else."

Her initial shock dispelled, her rage was no longer contained. The words hissed out.

"Okay, Martin. You want to know what I want so badly? You really want to know?"

"Sure. Enlighten me." He spat feverishly.

The comment was low and acerbic but Sam's pitch rose in an increasingly wild response. Her tears had faded but her eyes now shone with fury and the freedom that came with it.

"What I _want_ is for my private life to not be under scrutiny every fucking minute. What I _want_ is to stop screwing up everyone else's lives only for me to still not get what _I_ want." Her voice jumped another notch, shaking with the effort. "You just don't get it, do you? What I want _is_ the cliché. I want someone who I can be happy just being with. I want someone who really wants to be with _me_. I want someone who can make me feel safe. I want someone who'll _need_ me back." For the first time, her words over-flowed and she was powerless to stop them. "I want all the things that you are offering me."

Martin looked up in surprise as Sam's voice suddenly dropped. There was a brief pause as she seemed to comprehend exactly what it was she was saying. Her tone became heavy with the dawning realisation.

"I just don't _want_ them from _you_."

Martin remained almost motionless. Though through the shock that her words had created, Sam thought she saw him flinch slightly. She knew she'd hurt him but she seemed to be on a roll. As her voice rose again to full pitch, a hint of irony crept into her tone.

"I _want_ what everyone seems to know I can't have. I _want_ Jack."

As Samantha's mouth snapped shut, there was a stunned silence from both parties. Her heart feeling as if it could beat right through her chest, she was struck by the sudden sensation that she might just throw up. Although the exact details of what she'd just screamed were kind of hazy, she was well-aware that she'd somehow just admitted to Martin what she'd spent all her energy avoiding admitting even to herself. She glanced apprehensively at the man opposite her.

Locked in his own private battle, Martin was yet to move, or to look at her. He guessed the expression on his face was one of shock. But he realised quickly that the emotion could probably be attributed not so much to _what_ she'd said, but the fact that she had actually said it _out loud_. His adrenaline finally spent, it took all his energy to remain standing. Knowing he had to say something, he purposefully avoided her gaze, instead staring absently around the room. When he eventually spoke, he nodded curtly. His words were muted but civil.

"Well, at least we finally got that cleared up."

He knew she was still watching him. As his heartbeat returned to normal, he felt a hot flush of shame as his eyes came to rest on Samantha. Yet he couldn't bring himself to speak further.

Studying him warily, Sam felt rather than saw the fight run out of him. Her nerve ends were trembling and her senses were hyper-aware. Yet as she sensed the change in him, she felt her own body relax with his. Allowing themselves a moment to share in the shock of what had just transpired, the silence was almost courteous. As she brought her breathing under control, Sam wiped away the final traces of emotion from her cheek, hesitantly catching his eye.

"Well, I guess I kind of deserved some of that?"

Hanging his head, Martin appeared to shrink physically. "No, you didn't." His response was barely audible. "Well, not all of it." He attempted a smile, but his other emotions played out all too clearly on his face.

As she took in the utterly defeated man before her, she felt the bristle of fresh tears in the corner of her eyes.

"This isn't what I wanted to happen tonight? I never wanted it to be like this. You do know that, right?"

He nodded calmly but Sam could see that his hands were shaking. He stuffed them into his pockets and opened his mouth to speak, but the lump in his throat warned him against it. Instead he took another breath.

Watching him struggle, Sam felt another wave of grief at the tangible proof of the consequences of her actions.

"We're going to have to talk about this some more. We can't… I can't… I can't just leave it like this."

Martin nodded, still not trusting himself to speak.

"I really did care about… I do care about you." She sighed. "I… It was never meant to turn out like this." Her voice caught in her throat. "I know this isn't an excuse… but I guess I never thought I could hurt you this much." There was no response. "I'm… I'm so sorry. I should just… I should go." She paused, watching him. His shoulders were slumped and he just looked lost. She opened her mouth to offer some sort of consolation. But not knowing what would be appropriate in this situation, if indeed anything would, she held the meaningless words back. She silently cursed the tears which by now she was certain were visible. She didn't deserve the luxury of being comforted. "Unless you er, want me to stay…," she tried.

Martin watched as her gaze moved unconsciously to the door. Seeking out her eyes for a final time, he sighed as he nodded resignedly in its direction. Collecting himself tiredly, his voice was heavy with sadness, but he spoke gently.

"I think we both know this isn't where you want to be right now."

Sam looked at him, overcome for a moment by the unwarranted wave of compassion that he was offering her. Taking a shaky breath, a wistful smile graced her lips as they shared the unspoken acknowledgement of all the relief and regret passing between them. Knowing that the implications of her unanticipated confession would soon kick in, with a profound sense of finality, she quietly retrieved the key from her pocket leaving it wordlessly on the counter. Allowing them both a last remorseful glance, she softly closed the door behind her.

**TBC**

**A/N:** Oh, the melodrama. I just couldn't resist writing a fight scene once the idea crept into my head… sorry. :hides:

Thanks as always to Newlands for the input – and for providing some lines which I liked _so_ much better than my own versions. But if anything didn't work here, it's all _my_ fault. :)


	20. Chapter Twenty

**_Disclaimer:_** I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". I make no money from this!

**Chapter Twenty**

**Office of the New York Branch of the FBI, Manhattan.**

**10.38pm**

As the elevator doors slid open onto the dimly lit, deserted corridor, Samantha took a breath. The only noise in the building emanated from behind her as the empty carrier made its way back down the shaft in preparation for the morning rush. She stopped pensively. Although the greater part of her waking hours revolved around the place where she now stood, tonight she felt as if her bearings were suddenly off-centre. Taking a moment to acknowledge the familiar surroundings, an ironic smile graced her lips as she realised her loss to explain what she was doing here, now, was both literal and metaphorical.

The haze that seemed to have shrouded her since she'd closed the door of Martin's apartment had been a strange comfort. Although she realised that the finality of the event and the inevitable aftermath would soon hit her, for the moment she was just grateful that the numbness had lingered long enough for her to wind up here. The one place where her rational mind told her she really shouldn't be. If she had any sense, she reasoned, she would have gone straight back to her apartment – to wait out her emotions in the privacy of her own home. Yet here she was - again. She briefly allowed herself to recognise the humour in her own predictability. Martin had said as much to her, hadn't he?

"_I think we both know this isn't where you want to be right now."_

Where else would she really have headed tonight?

Letting her senses lead her, her eyes settled involuntarily on the soothing light visible from through the glass wall in front of her. She was aware that, as always, her impulses would deliver her to the source of the glow. She could only hope that she arrived before either her turmoil surfaced or her rationality caught up. The raw emotions, fighting their way inevitably back to the surface, were churning in her empty stomach. Curiously looking down at her hands, she noted that they were still shaking slightly. If her mind was so far successful in staving off the impact of the feelings which had earlier broken free, her body was clearly not co-operating. For a moment she felt almost light-headed. Although she sensed that the root of that feeling was not the meteoric impact of her colliding emotions, but the over-whelming relief which the confrontation had brought. For the first time in months, she realised, her ever-present inner conflict had been silenced. If only for tonight, at least, she knew exactly where she was going – it seemed to be the only place she really knew.

The adrenaline of the earlier encounter had propelled her forward. Logically she assessed that her current state could probably be classed as a mild form of emotional exhaustion. The journey from Martin's building was an indistinct blur. Even if her destination had been inevitable, only the illuminated time on her watch informed her that she had in fact come straight here. This was where she'd intended to be. Yet as she stood, motionless, in the empty hallway, she idly wondered whether this momentum had indeed driven her forward or if it had, in honesty, somehow pushed her back. The circumstances may have shifted, but the reason for her continued return was constant. She wasn't the only one who was predictable.

Pushing further contemplation aside she took a breath, forward was the only way to go.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

His chair manoeuvred so its back pressed awkwardly against the desk's worn edge, Jack stared blankly ahead. His suffocating tie had been discarded the moment the calming silence of an emptying public building had settled in and it now trailed limply over the arm of the couch beside his jacket. On his work surface were strewn the bureaucratic remnants of Adam Walker. Dozens of scrawled pages documented a man whose life was currently being sustained only by an assortment of whirring machinery in an ICU almost two hundred miles away. There was so much paper that he could barely make out the wood beneath it, yet something seemed to be preventing him from clearing it. He couldn't explain it, or maybe he just didn't want to try, but he couldn't quite bring himself to file it away. Not yet.

He'd started the process after he'd bid Sam a muted farewell, although how long ago that had been, he had little idea. Where as normally, even now, she'd sweep into his office in her own inimitable fashion, this time she'd merely hovered at the threshold, as if unsure of her footing. He was acutely aware that since leaving the Walker's house that afternoon, he'd found himself making a concerted effort to reinstate some distance between them. The drive back to New York had been undertaken in near silence, underlined by his immediate retreat to his office on their arrival. Once or twice her brow had furrowed as she'd appraised him, but she had chosen to remain quiet. Yet the concern conveyed in her silence was as invasive as any verbal interrogation, and his response as telling. He wasn't sure if his behaviour was for her sake, or his own. However he had a nagging suspicion that it wasn't going to do either of them any good.

This doubt had been confirmed as he'd found himself, several hours later, pacing around his office. He knew she was out there, resolutely at her desk, and part of him had desperately hoped that she was there because she was waiting for _him_. Once or twice he had been unable to resist the urge to rise from his chair and risk a glance between the shuttered blinds. He had watched her momentarily, urgently debating whether he could just go out and talk to her. Yet with an odd heaviness, he had silently quelled this notion before he let it get out of hand. He smiled wryly. After his conversation with her the previous evening, he really should have learned his lesson. Whether driven by nostalgia, or something less pure, he'd definitely said more than he'd intended to. More accurately, he was lucky she was even still _talking_ to him. Yet his memory had recalled with startling ease, the feeling of her unexpected proximity on the Walker's couch mere hours ago. Forcing himself away from the glass, he'd sighed. She'd moved on, and the sooner he started believing it, the better it would be – for everyone.

Paperwork abandoned, he had at some point settled back into his chair. He wasn't certain how long he'd been in this position, but his aching neck and shoulders suggested that a significant portion of time had passed. Images of the Walkers flashed through his mind like a distorted slide-show. As the projection played out, the pictures would mutate and morph until the family album was his own. The thoughts that had been spinning in his head for the last thirty-six hours were beginning to rampage and he resignedly gave them free reign. There was really no point trying to control them. He idly considered spinning his seat back around and once again succumbing to the pretence of work. Yet he chose to stay there. At least that way he could see neither the clock, nor the empty bullpen behind him.

If his back was turned, he might be able to fool himself into believing that she was still there, poring over the reports which they both knew could have waited until the following morning. Maybe she was even watching him, with the habitual ease that he knew so well. Even with the distance between them, he could read the flicker of concern that would dance across her eyes for a brief unguarded moment. The questioning look sent his way that told him that she knew he wasn't really okay, and that she was just… there. Words just seemed so extraneous at such moments. His eyes would meet hers and he'd nod imperceptibly – a well practised gesture that their co-workers either failed to notice, or were kind enough to ignore. A slow smile would tug at her lips and her head would tilt just slightly. It told him everything he needed to know. It was a comforting illusion, but an illusion nonetheless.

Or so he'd thought.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Hey."

Slowly turning in his chair, Jack blinked at the dual reflection in the glass. He knew he was exhausted, and stressed, but seeing apparitions was never good news. He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

Watching his expression change, a soft but genuine smile crossed her face. The confused reaction her appearance had prompted made Sam oddly relaxed. On her way back through the bullpen she'd absently practised the calm neutral smile she would display as she casually cited a vague excuse for her late return. Although the thought of disclosing the scene that had just transpired was over-whelming, she also guessed that it really wasn't something that Jack needed to hear, at least not tonight. Her need to see Jack had never really been just about _her_ and today was no exception. He was in no position to deny that something about this case had affected him on a level he would never have anticipated. And whether he was ready to talk about it or not, the question of her being there beside him was immaterial. As she quietly took in the slumped posture of the figure in front of her, she knew she was right.

"Hey, yourself."

As he gradually convinced himself that this was more than the trick of an over-worked mind, Jack let his expression slide into one of self-abased amusement. As their eyes connected, the wave of relief which had washed over him, he realised, had little to do with concern over his state of mind. Looking past her through the open doorway, he could faintly see her coat discarded on the back of her chair. Her scent was already drifting in the direction of his desk. She was really here.

His gratitude was quickly tempered as for the first time he took in the appearance of the woman in front of him. Despite her smile, her face was pale as she leaned heavily against the doorframe. The faint red rims around her eyes suggested the exhaustion was more than physical. Their eyes never parting, Jack nodded in the direction of the couch. Sam smiled softly before leaving the safety of the doorway. Crossing the room she dropped down onto it. Her fingers automatically reached for the suit jacket lying next to her and she pulled it subconsciously into her lap. Jack watched quietly.

"Sam, are you…?"

The concern in his voice was daunting and for a moment she didn't trust herself to speak. Re-gathering her emotions she inwardly composed herself, although she sensed she had failed to prevent the truth from surfacing momentarily in her eyes. Knowing that an audible lie would be unfair to both of them, she settled for a silent non-committal nod. Breaking their gaze for the first time, she glanced down at the laden desk.

"I guess I should be asking you the same thing." She indicated the documents between them.

"Touché." He raised an eyebrow in her direction.

There was a comfortable silence. Jack absently rubbed the side of his face, his attention returning to the papers in front of him. Attempting to shuffle them into coherency, he was acutely aware of Sam's undisguised scrutiny. When he looked back up, her expression, he noticed, was torn between amusement and concern. Her unwavering stare informed him that his every move was being read and processed. Uncomfortable, but strangely comforted by the sensation, he sighed and set the file back down. After another moment, she spoke.

"Are you ready to talk about it now?"

Her tone was gentle, yet somehow left little room for argument. As his shoulders slumped further, he averted his eyes. Shifting impulsively from the couch, Sam quietly closed the distance between them, walking around the desk and perching herself on the edge facing him. Still focused on the pensive figure next to her, she shifted the papers beside her, suddenly registering what he'd been reading.

"Jack?" Her brow furrowed questioningly.

Jack glanced up at the papers she was holding – a copy of Adam Walker's current medical notes. He sighed resignedly. "I asked the hospital to fax them to me."

Sam kept her voice level. "Any particular reason?"

He shrugged. "Let's just put it down to curiosity."

"And did you find what you were looking for?" Her expression was understanding but solemn.

Running a hand through his hair, he smiled. "Who says I was looking for something?"

The corner of her mouth began to turn up but her tone remained serious. "Jack."

"It's funny really…" Jack paused, moving until he was staring out through the open blinds across the office and into the night. "Adam was right all along."

Confused, but sensing there was more to come, Sam waited quietly. Again fighting the urge to reach out physically, she settled for manoeuvring herself so her hand rested next to his. Jack turned back to her, observing her silent support, but looked down before continuing.

"It was probably genetic, after all."

Sam frowned, allowing her bewilderment to show. "There's no evidence that David Walker has inherited any form of mental illness from either of his parents. You heard what Laura Walker said."

"It was an aneurysm." Jack's voice was heavy as he watched Sam absorb the weight of his proclamation. At her questioning glance, he nodded. "The doctors think it could be hereditary."

Sam sighed as she processed the new information. "The headaches, his behaviour at the motel…"

"Early warnings," Jack nodded grimly. "He was so busy worrying about his kid being bi-polar, he didn't even think about what other screwed up genes he might have been passing on."

"He couldn't have known, Jack." She studied him closely. His eyes were down and he refused to meet her gaze. "There's more than genetics."

He chuckled humourlessly. "Yes, I'm fully aware of how many different ways there are to screw up your kids."

Feeling her tense beside him, he looked up remorsefully, surprised by the harshness of his own comment. "I'm sorry."

She nodded tentatively.

The acceptance in her face was too much, and Jack felt something inside him break free. "You know a week ago, the Walkers were like this perfect family, and now look at them." The thoughts tumbled unprompted from his mouth. "All Adam wanted to do was protect his family, and this is where they've ended up."

The walls of his self-imposed isolation crumbling beneath her quiet understanding, Jack felt both excruciatingly exposed and deliriously liberated.

"I wonder if Adam appreciated the irony? Even if he was wrong, David Walker's going to spend the rest of his life wondering if he's gonna turn out _crazy_ – assuming, that is, that he doesn't wind up blaming himself for the whole thing and losing his mind that way." A rueful smile crossed his lips. "Either way, he got his father's legacy."

Out of words, he shrugged helplessly, seeking out Sam's eyes.

Their gazes locked and she let the silence run on. The only noise in the uninhabited office was in the soothing hum of the electricity around them. An odd sensation grasped hold of her and for a moment she failed to comprehend it. But as she felt Jack's unwavering watchfulness, her buried memories took hold like a physical presence, identifying the emotion with a startling clarity. She felt _connected_. A feeling of warmth spread over her as she belatedly realised his fingers were brushing against her own.

Studiously maintaining the contact she softened her voice further. "I take it Adam's prognosis isn't good."

Jack shook his head in response. "It wouldn't seem so."

Instinctively, she felt her fingers tighten around his. He immediately mirrored the gesture, neither acknowledging the movement.

"You're not _him_, Jack."

The veiled intimacy of the comment took them both off guard. Almost shyly, she began to withdraw her hand, but to her surprise he held on fast.

"Yeah, he _fought_ for what he believed in."

Ignoring the painful implications, Sam's tone was gentle. "Kate and Hanna still have their father," she reminded him.

His gaze lifted earnestly from their joined hands. "That's not the _only_ thing I was talking about."

Achingly aware of the raw emotion that had flickered in her eyes at his words, Jack felt the familiar tug of guilt. If he'd had the inclination to study all the pieces of evidence surrounding Sam's presence beside him tonight, he could have drawn only one conclusion. Yet like so many other things between the two of them, it seemed better left unsaid.

When he spoke, the softness in his voice caused her chest to briefly constrict. Her hand was still in his. "You never told me what you're doing back here."

The implication of the question was clear enough to both of them.

Quietly swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, Sam held his gaze.

"It would seem that this is where I want to be."

Again he watched her, this time making no pretence of the open affection. Her eyes were still a little too bright but she returned his smile easily. A wave of tenderness engulfed him as their fingers casually interlaced. For an instant he felt that the memories of such an action would overwhelm him, but as she studied him back, he was struck by the dizzying realisation that their fragmented recollections could do little to touch this one moment.

"Are you ready to get out of here?"

The depth of emotion in his expression belied his playful tone.

Biting softly on her lower lip, Sam lowered her gaze. Finding herself tightening the grip on his hand, she shook her head imperceptibly. Inhaling contentedly, he squeezed back, again finding her eyes; neither willing to leave the safety provided by this silent cocoon just yet.

Without relinquishing his hold, Jack rose quietly from his chair, turning to perch himself next to her on the desk. She glanced at him for a moment before shifting closer. As their shoulders touched, he felt her physically relax against him. Savouring the feeling, Sam let the warmth wash over her. Her eyes involuntarily closing, she gently rested her head on his shoulder.

Glancing over at her, Jack felt the last remains of tension seep from his body as he adjusted to the soft mass grazing against him. Without thinking he lifted his free hand, soothingly brushing aside a strand of hair from her face. Feeling her stir, he smiled slightly as he turned his attention back to the desk. With renewed purpose he calmly began to gather the scattered sheets of Adam Walker's file, quietly relishing the comfort he found in the unconditional presence of the figure resting silently beside him.

**THE END**

**A/N:** Wow, I'm finally done. Thanks again to everyone who's read, reviewed and, with any luck, actually enjoyed along the way – particularly all of you over at YTDAW, who have just been fantastic. I'm not convinced I'll be attempting another WIP anytime soon, but it's definitely been an interesting experience. :)

Oh, and of course thanks to Newlands, for the beta work and the gentle prodding both with the writing and all the other stuff. Bet _you're_ glad, I'm finally finished, right? ;)

Cheers, C.O. :)


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